Overlady
by EarthScorpion
Summary: "A new overlady, you say? She's a little short and flat-chested, although her temper is impressively vile. Oh well. Needs must when needs must. Too long have the lands of Halkeginia gone without true Evil. There are fluffy bunnies and happy ponies all over the place, frollicing! It makes me quite sick! No, it doesn't matter if she wants to or not. Because Evil always finds a way."
1. The Dark and Evil Start of Evil Darkness

It was a dark and stormy night.

Well, no, it wasn't. It was certainly stormy, for slashing rain whipped across the wind-tossed countryside, and the sky was covered from horizon to horizon in clouds the colour of lead. And it was most definitely dark, save for the moments when the entire world was cast into bleak contrast by calamitous crashes of blinding lightning. But it was still mid afternoon, and somewhere above the thick clouds the sun was high and bright, as marked by the patch of sky which was merely iron-coloured, rather than lead.

Hence, it was a dark and stormy mid-afternoon, which is a phrase with far less poetic cachet and precedence than its nocturnal cousin. Still, two out of three isn't bad. It's sixty-six point six recurring percent. It's a solid pass.

And so all in all, with everything considered, by and large, it was probably a time for Evil deeds.

Not just evil deeds, which can be carried out in pretty much any levels of lighting and climatic conditions. In fact, some of the most evil deeds are done by well-fed men sitting in tastefully lit rooms on comfortable chairs as they fill out paperwork and give orders, with not a flaming brazier nor a throne made out of skulls to be seen. No, these were Evil deeds. The difference is, the person who coined the phrase 'the banality of evil' had never encountered real Evil, which always tries its best to be stylish about things, and even when it fails at least fails in interestingly tasteless ways.

Across this decidedly inhospitable landscape of jagged croppings of rock rising above foetid swamps and dark forests, a lone mounted figure stood out. Hunched low over her horse, keeping it at a slow walk, Louise de la Valliere kept her oilskin tightly wrapped around her with one hand and a firm hand on the reins with another. Her horse trembled faintly with tiredness - she was a good enough horsewoman to realise she had already pushed it too hard to go any faster than a walk - and it was skittish from the lightning.

"Come on, girl," she said, leaning forwards to stroke the mare's soaked head. "Just a bit further. Just a little bit. I walked you all the way until lunch, and you had oats then, so you can keep going just a bit further, right?"

She needed to get to cover, get out of this rain. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be riding like this in the middle of a spring storm. She shouldn't be out in the cold and wet, on her own up along the horrible bits of the northern coast, where bandits and orcs and Founder knew what else roamed the wilderness.

But a lot of things shouldn't have been, but were.

* * *

...

* * *

In the end, she managed to find a cave in one of the outcroppings of rock. Cold, shivering, she led her horse in out of the wet, and slumped down, shaking. After a few moments, she wearily levered herself to her feet, and pulled her horse blanket out of one of her saddlebags. Slowly, she rubbed her steed down with the still-damp blanket, until it stopped shaking quite so much, and then she fed it with the last of the oats she had with her.

Only then did she see to herself; a small fire set with the dry wood she had - a _proper _mage wouldn't have had to muck around with flint - and one of the rather-damp dried-up balls of grain and vegetables thrown into a pot. It wasn't as if she had a shortage of water; she just had to go and leave the pot under one of the rivulets running by the cave-mouth to fill it.

Louise felt slightly more human as the scent of cooking food filled her nostrils and she had a chance to empty her bladder outside the cave. She huddled close to the fire, stripped down to her chemise as she tried her best to dry her wet clothes. She hadn't managed to dry yesterday's set properly, so she couldn't even change into them.

The increased physical wellbeing, however, only let her sink deeper into melancholy. She was a failure. A complete and utter failure. A useless, wasted, failure who didn't deserve the name of de la Valliere. Now she no longer felt like she was going to freeze to death - or possibly drown on dry land, so heavily was it raining - she could come to face what she had known for the last four days.

Since the terrible events of the Spring Summoning Ritual.

That day hadn't started like this. The sun had shone down, from on high, down onto a green and pleasant field in Tristain. The chill of the morning had been still barely present, although rapidly departing, and the faintest hint of dew had been still present on the grass. Her shoes had squeaked, she remembered. It had horribly, loathsomely, terribly been a lovely spring morning, and the clarity of the sky above had declared that it was only going to get more pleasant. There had been birds on the field, tiny sparrows in the sky and a number of large grey cranes in the nearby pond.

Louise wrung out her hair, feeling the cold water against her fingers. Yes, it had been an auspicious day. Clear sunlight for Fire, dew for Water, a breeze for Wind and... uh, the earth for Earth. Everything had been perfect, a guaranteed success for the summoning ritual.

Except for her.

She had got to watch as people summoned frogs, cats, birds, salamanders (damn Kirche and the fact that her breasts even seemed to have the ability to call wild animals), and even a Founder-damned _dragon_. And then when she had stepped up... nothing.

Nothing at all.

Not even a _flea_. No summoning portal, no success. All she'd managed to do was cover herself in soot from head to toe so she was as black as midnight.

What kind of mage did that?

She couldn't stay at the Academy, that was for sure. Oh, certainly, they were being "kind". And "sympathetic". And telling her that "everything was all right". Yes, sure, everything was certainly just fine. It was all fine and happy and skippy and wonderful and perfect and cheerful. Except for the fact that she was a failure, a zero, a pathetic little girl who couldn't cast a single spell properly. All she could do was destroy things.

The worst bit had come when Kirche von Zerbst, her long-standing rival, had been "understanding" and come to "comfort her" but really to gloat. Why else would she have said that at least she could still get married? Louise certainly didn't want to become like... like some commoner woman who had fifteen children, because that was all that they were good for.

It had come as a dream in the night. She wouldn't stay to be mocked and bullied and shown to be a worthless little failure any more. No, there was no way she could stand that. So she would run away. She still had her entire term's pocket money. She would pack, run away, and seek her fame and fortune. Her mother had done that too; she had become a hero because of it, stopping plots against the Crown, winning battles, and she did that all in disguise, pretending to be someone else.

That would be the way to prove she was worthwhile. That she was really her mother's daughter, and not some mistake, that - as sometimes she had nightmares about - her parents' real daughter had died at birth and the midwife had substituted another pink-haired child in her place to avoid being punished. If her mother could do it, so would Louise, or die trying.

And if she died trying, at least she wouldn't be around to embarrass her family anymore. Wouldn't have to face the bullying anymore. Wouldn't be the Zero anymore.

Louise stared into the fire, the light reflected back in her eyes. Only it had all gone wrong. At first she had started off towards Bruxelles, because clearly the capital was where you sought fame and fortune. But then she had realised that that would be where they would look for her, and it wasn't exactly running away if you ran away to a place perhaps two hours coach-ride from the place you had been. So she had taken a short trip across country to take the road to La Rochelle instead.

But fame and fortune seemed to be rather harder to find than the stories had claimed. And then she had got turned around in the mountains near La Rochelle and the weather had got much, much worse and by that point she had stopping hoping that no one would ever find her and started hoping that someone would find her.

But no, no one had even been looking for the runaway noble girl. Ha! Showed how much any of them cared, for all that they had been trying to be all reassuring. They probably forgot about her as soon as she was out of their sight. Or they'd been _pleased _to be rid of this inconvenient girl.

The pink-haired girl wrung out her hair again, and shivered, only partly from the cold and wet. She poked her clothes experimentally, but they were still drenched. At least there was water in this cave, and stacks of dry-ish branches near the entrance - probably blown in here by the wind, she thought - and if it came down to it, her magic had always been pretty good at killing wild animals. Well, some kinds of wild animals. Birds, mice, kittens, puppies, sheep... pretty much anything that anyone found cute and could find a reason to blame her for. So at least she could get food if the rain kept on coming.

Louise curled up into a ball by the fire, by her drying clothes, and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

...

* * *

The pink-haired girl woke with a start, and realised she was not alone. She didn't know how she was not alone. She could give no evidence for... was not alone save for her horse, she corrected herself. Because that was still here, and looking decidedly jittery.

From the way the fire had died down to embers, and the fact that outside it was even darker, she roughly guessed that it was probably nighttime. Maybe eight or so hours had passed, by her best estimate, but it was probably still before midnight. And decidedly chilly with the fire died down and only dressed in a chemise.

Picking up her wand, Louise shrugged on her oilskin over the top, after discovering that everything else was still too wet to wear. Then, after a moment's thought, she put her wand in her back pocket, and picked up a large branch in both hands. There was something very... reassuring about a heavy lump of wood, especially compared to how... much of a failure she was.

"H-hello?" she called out, voice quavering. "Is anyone there?"

The fire went out, as if it was a candle flame snuffed out by a pair of giant clawed fingers. This precise metaphor came to mind to Louise, because at the edge of hearing she heard a scrape which sounded frightfully like the sound of nails on slate. Only louder.

Her horse panicked, treacherously finding reserves of strength which it apparently had not been willing to provide her, and bolted.

"Come back you stupid mare!" Louise yelled after it, watching as it ran off with about half her saddlebags. Something skittered out of the edge of her vision, and she whirled to face it. "Show yourself!"

No response, except for more skittering, again out of the corner of her eye.

"Sh-show yourself!"

"Who dares intrude upon my... dark domain?" a voiced asked. "This tower is... mine!"

Louise's wand whipped around to face the source of the noise. There... there were two faintly glowing points of light there, she realised. Two... red lights. At about head height. For a child. "I am Louise de la Valliere," she announced, trying to keep the shake out of her voice.

"Oh. A... de la Valliere. I should feel all so... awed by such company." Or, she realised, as the two lights rose, a man sitting down. "Welcome to my humble... abode." In the darkness, as her eyes adjusted to the lack of firelight, she could just about see a figure standing there. Bats chittered, flocking out en mass over her head, and the girl flinched. "Ah, listen to the... children of the night," the dark figure said, his movements forwards accompanied by a rustle of fabric. "What... wonderful music... they make."

The constant dramatic pauses in the dialogue were beginning to disturb Louise by this point, because they broke up the flow of conversation no end and really rather annoyed her. "Who are you?"

"Moi? I am... the Dark High Lord Baron Louis de Bois, and this... is my tower," it said, with another shuffling scrape forwards.

"This is a cave," the girl said, edging backwards.

"No," the figure said, a twist of irritation entering its voice, "it is a tower. Really. It's just a bit damaged at the moment." It coughed, and its voice returned to the dry rasp it had been using before. "Please won't you... dine with me?"

"N-no thank you," Louise said. "And... um, I didn't know it belonged to you and I'm sorry so..."

"Ah, yesssssssss," hissed the voice, "the servants are most... disobedient, aren't they? Most... poor at their... tasks. They should have... greeted you and... shown you to your... quarters. Like the other... guests who have shown up at my... tower over the years. I will need to... punish them for their... disobedience. Punish them... mightily."

Louise carefully laid the branch she was carrying down. She had to allay its suspicions, because only one kind of creature would be this pointlessly melodramatic and unnecessarily sinister according to her mother's tales. Slowly, one hand went back to her rear pocket searing for her wand, and she cursed whatever bravado had given her the idea that a large lump of wood was a better weapon than explosions. "I'm quite f-fine, thank you," she said, as slowly as he could.

"Oh dear, oh dearie dearie... me," said - no, breathed, 'said' was much too human a word for that sinister corpse-like rattle - the figure. "A poor lost little... girl." It exhaled again, a stinking breath which smelt of rotting corpses, musty tombs and dried blood. "Poor little girl, come... here. Why don't you share a... drink with me? You smell... delicious. And are only dressed in a... chemise underneath that cloak. Why don't you... take it... off? You're dressing like you... want it"

Mindlessly, Louise's cold fingers scrabbled for her wand. She had to keep this thing talking, stop it doing whatever it was going to do, because things which looked like this and sounded like this and above all smelt like this were not good things to be around. "Dr-drink?" she stammered, half from fear and half from the cold and wet. "Wh-what kind of drink? Like... wine?"

"Wine?" the figure exhaled. "I do not drink... wine."

Louise's fingers closed around the shaft of her wand. "Well... uh, what about brandy?"

"I do not drink... brandy."

"Sherry?"

"I do not drink... sherry."

"Beer?"

"... I am fond of... beer, yes."

"R-really?"

The corpse-like figure in its tattered black robe... only that wasn't a robe was it, that was wings... grinned, revealing elongated canines. "No. Guess again, poor little lost... girl."

"Well. Um. Um. Um. Wh-what about... Fireball!"

The explosion painted the inside of the cave with soot, ignited the rusted braziers, and sent the vampire reeling. There was the sound of collapsing masonry as part of the room fell in. Louise coughed in the smoke - at least she was dry now - and pointed her wand at the frazzled-looking monster.

"You little _pleb!_" the walking corpse yelled, in a rather more normal voice which was not riddled with inauspicious and allegedly sinister pauses. "This was my best suit!" Now she could see it properly in the light of the relit braziers, it was dressed in heavily tattered noble garb which looked to be at least a hundred years out of date.

"Fireball!" she countered. "And," she coughed, "I am not a plebeian, you... Fireball! I can almost certainly. Fireball. Trace my bloodline back... Fireball! Back... back... Fireball! Back further than you!"

Knocked by the relentless series of concussive impacts, the vampire tripped, staggered, and fell backwards. Right back onto one of the newly relit braziers. Which made up for their lack of things like modern mage-lighting or fragrant sandalwood perfumery by having long, sharp spikes around the rim.

The bloodsucker went up like an oil-soaked torch, and screamed until it was but ash

Choking from the smoke, her clothes tattered - but at least dry - and filthy, Louise sank to her knees, and retched. She was exhausted, mentally and physically. She was hungry. She was shaking with adrenaline. Part of the room had fallen in. She was very glad she had not had a full bladder during the incident. Her horse had run off.

Oh, and she was a complete failure at everything in life and should probably have just laid down and let the vampire kill her, because it was not like she had anything to live for. That still hadn't changed. Although, on the plus side, she had now killed a vampire.

In a way which no one had seen her do.

And so probably didn't count.

""You! Girl! That was a display of Evil energy I haven't seen in a long, long time!" There was a pathetic sounding cough from somewhere far up above. "Care to help poor old pathetic weak Gnarl down from where that nouveau riche trying-far-too-hard vampire locked me up?"

Weakly, Louise looked around. Now the braziers were alike, she could see that what she had thought was a cave was actually what looked like the ruined remnants of a castle, or maybe a tower. This was probably what had once been the hall. There were holes in the floor which she made a note to stay clear from. And there were cages hanging from the ceiling. Some of them had rusted through, but some of them were still occupied. Only one of the occupants was still alive, however.

The creature looked somewhat looked like a demented and malevolent cat, and rather more like a goblin. However, there was a certain... edge about it which most goblins lacked. Perhaps it was the wispy sideburns of white hair. Perhaps it was the goatee. However, it was rather more likely that it was the look in its eyes.

They were cold, hard, and intelligently certain.

"Honestly, give a man a hunger for the blood of the living and a pair of sharp fangs, and he thinks he should be the dark master of the night," the gnarled goblin - who may possibly have been called Gnarl, if Louise was hearing him right - complained. "Use that hand crank by the throne, and let me down. I've been up in this cage for nearly eighty years, because that foolish vampire said I had to be his advisor and I came with the Tower. Pah!" The goblin spat. "I would never serve someone like that, especially someone who pawned the remaining statues to buy himself some overpriced suits. Evil has standards, you know."

Louise pointed her wand up at the cage, her hand shaking. "Keep back, goblin," she said, voice quavering. "You saw what I did to the vampire!"

"Goblin?" The goblin sounded positively offended. "Goblin? I am no mere _goblin_. I am a _Minion_, an altogether superior race of being."

"I'm pointing a wand at you!" the girl asserted, ignoring the fact that due to the shake in her hands it was only on target perhaps half of the time.

"And it's a very nice wand," Gnarl said, "but my old legs and arms are very cramped up here in the cage. And," a wheedling note entered his voice, "... clearly when you are so powerful a user of dark energies, you have nothing to fear from one tired old Minion. Who knows a few secrets about how to use magic which he might share with a young girl who let him out of his cage."

That was true, she had to admit. The goblin looked _old_- almost as if it was the equivalent age to Headmaster Osmond. Which it might have been, if as it claimed it had been locked up in the cage for eighty years. And rescuing things counted as heroic deeds, and... maybe he was a mage turned into a goblin, because frankly goblins were barely able to talk, while this one was positively verbose. "Very well," she said, "but one sign of trickery from you and I'll do the same to you!"

"Oh, I swear on the goodness of my heart and by all that is Holy and Good to not hurt even the slightest hair on your head," the old goblin said, reassuringly.

Well, that was a serious oath and a reassurance. Consoled by that, Louise made her way to the old crank, and straining, worked at it until eventually the metal cage was lowered down.

"Thank you," Gnarl said. "Now, just get this cage unlocked. The vampire had the key."

Searching around through the pile of ash by the brazier found an old iron key, and Louise picked it up in her left hand. Keeping her wand pointed at the old goblin with her right hand, she fumbled at the lock until it turned in the lock.

The old goblin moved in a blur, seizing her hand while his other reached behind him and...

… and everything changed. Louise felt a weight leave her body, a weight which she had been carrying ever since the Springtime Summoning Ritual and not even realised. It was like she had been a compass, and now her needle had been removed; like she was a mule who had cast off their rider and was now running free.

Gnarl flinched back, eyes suddenly going wide. He gasped, a sudden inhalation of liquid pain. "Your dark ladyship," he breathed. "Oh my, oh, my my my."

"What?" Louise said. She was beginning to get annoyed, not just because she had a distinct feeling she had just been a fool and the goblin had been about to kill her. More annoyed. The go... Gnarl took another step back, back into the cage, and her irritation grew more.

Silently, the wizened creature raised one hand - his left one. There were runic marks on it, burning a sick, bilious green which made Louise feel slightly nauseated just by looking at it. Then that sensation was gone, and it was... just an old scar. "What does that mean?" she asked.

"It means," the old goblin said thoughtfully, "something very, very Bad has happened."

"Really?" Louise asked, concerned.

"Oh yes, it's gloriously Bad! Just wonderful!"

"Boss!" another voice sounded out from behind her, and she whirled, wand raised at the brown-skinned goblin which came running in. "We hear screaming, and it not you or us! Sound like bloody sucker dead! And then hand hurt!" The creature raised its hand, to show another identical mark branded onto its left hand. "Then Shinky get angry, try take food, and I hit Shinky harder and faster than I normally hit Shinky! Knock out teeth!"

"Indeed," Gnarl said, rubbing his hands together, possibly out of malevolent intent and possibly to get the circulation flowing again. "Minions!" he continued, raising his voice. "This is the day we have been long waiting for! Not only is that disgusting vampire re-dead..." there were cheers from more brown-skinned goblins, who came flocking behind the first, one of whom was missing all their teeth, "... but we have a new master! Well," he paused, "we have a new mistress!"

"You sure she not master?" one of the goblins contributed.

"No, because she is female," Gnarl said. "Therefore, Minionkind can celebrate, because after so many long, long, _long _years, we are whole again."

"Um," said Louise.

"... but she boss of boss, so she master," the intransigent goblin chirped up.

"Lickit, be quiet, or I will have you put on privy duty for a year rather than just a month."

"Eyes! Glowing!" contributed another brown-skinned creature. "Like old days."

"Indeed they are, Chokem, and it does the evil heart of an old Minion like me good to see that lovely orange-yellow burn," the oldest and most-verbose goblin said. "Even if hers are rather pinker than I remember."

"Um," said Louise, raising her hands up to look at them. They... did seem to be illuminated by a light source when she did that.

"Now, mistress," Gnarl continued. "Oh, woe is us. Due to the actions of various people and mistakes which were made, none of which were by me, your treasury is empty and your Tower is ruined. You, in your wisdom have sealed us in because you collapsed the only entrance. Moreover, despite your vast and terrible reserves of Evil energy and magic, you are nearly completely untrained in spellcraft... you seem to be completely self-taught. And your Evil fashion sense is sadly lacking."

Gnarl paused for breath.

"And you clearly don't know how to fight, or even to command your Minions. And you're about as scary as an angry rabbit. And Evil has not ruled over these lands in a long, long time, so you almost certainly don't know how to be a proper supreme ruler. And you don't control any lands. And all four of the minion hives are missing, so you cannot even spawn new loyal servants to replace the inevitable losses we suffer in the process carrying out your dreams of dark conquest."

The Minion shrugged.

"But, well, you are our mistress, and we are your loyal Minions, so we'll just have to muddle along until you are properly trained up."

He paused again.

"Oh, and there are several hundred skeletons and zombies in the underlayers which you will need to clear out before they burst out to feed on the living. Like us. The filthy vampire filled up the place with all the people he killed over the years, you see, so there are rather a lot of them."

* * *

...

* * *

_The Dark and Evil Sinister Deeds of the Malevolent Supreme Lady of Darkness and Evil under whose Malignant Grasp all of Halkeginia was Darkly and Evilly Crushed by Darkness and Evil_

_or,_

_**Overlady**_

* * *

…

* * *

"What in God's name is going on!" Louise screamed at the expectant goblinoid faces, and felt slightly better for having said that.

* * *

...


	2. Part 1-2

_"Evil always wins, because Good is dumb. And when you look at your average Brown, that's saying something!" - _Gnarl

* * *

...

* * *

Louise shifted under the warmth of her blanket, curling her toes back under the rolled-in edges. In the place half-way between sleep and wakefulness she dozed. Slowly she climbed back into full awareness, though it was only with reluctance. She stuck her head back under the blankets, trying to cling onto sleep as long as possible.

She had been having such... such a strange dream. Very, very peculiar. She had been... some kind of super-agent for Princess Henrietta, going on secret missions, fighting Albionese traitors and golems and she had married Viscount Wardes and...

"Wake up, mistress-in-training! Rise and shine! Birds are singing, flowers are growing and the sun is shining! Pah! It makes me quite sick! Your Evil training has to continue so we can stamp out such things!"

… no, she was back in her perfectly normal and mundane world where she was apparently the ruler of a ruined smelly tower packed with undead, 'advised' by an uppity goblin and 'helped' by other goblins who were less uppity, but rather more stupid. And her eyes had a tendency to glow yellow. Well, pink-ish yellow. The problem was the glowing, not the precise colour.

She wondered exactly why she had ended up with this, and why she didn't just leave.

Wait, she knew the answer to that. The entrance was still blocked by rocks. And even if it was open, she _couldn't _go back. She had even left a note saying that she was going to seek her fame and fortune. If she came crawling back after a week, she would be... would be a _double-failure._She could handle being lectured to by a goblin about 'evil' if she could learn magic properly here. If she really could master her power here, she could put up with pretty much anything. Once she had done that, she could just quit.

And so what if she had apparently a ruined towerful of goblins as familiars? She would just have to take one back, and... goblins were magical creatures too, right? Which meant that they were just as impressive to have summoned as a dragon! Which meant that everyone should be as wowed by her summoning as by Tabitha's, and anyone who didn't agree was being petty and biased because they had only summoned –to pluck an example out of thin air – a stupid frog, rather than an awe-inspiring magical creature which just happened to be a goblin.

She was rather proud of that chain of logic.

It wasn't like "evil" was anything more than the inherent vice and wickedness in the hearts of mankind, anyway. It was a negation of virtue, a moral weakness, and certainly not a positive force in its own right.

"What if master not want to get up?"

"Honestly, Licket, are you so very stupid that you cannot understand that she is the dark mistress, not the master? Others have grasped it." Gnarl paused. "And if she will not get up, we might have to rub some acid in her eyes to freshen her up."

"I'mawakeandready!" Louise yelled, almost levitating upright in her haste.

The two minions stared up at her, from the rather dank room which she was using as her sleeping quarters. There had been no way in all that was holy and sacred that she would be using the place where the vampire had been sleeping. Just the scent of rot and blood had been enough to persuade her that she wasn't even going to go in there until it had been cleaned.

Preferably using fire. And lots of it.

"Well done, mistress," Gnarl said. "Now, come on. We have many Evil deeds to learn to do, and only much time to do them in."

* * *

...

* * *

It had been several days since she had entered this sunless place – three if she was to believe Gnarl, and her body clock agreed. She was wearing a rather dirty black dress which had been obtained for her from... somewhere in the mess, and had eventually by the medium of pointing her wand at any goblin that came near her managed to change without their 'aid'. It was a terrible fit, because it had apparently been designed for someone taller, wider in the hips, bustier and generally... generally more shaped like Kirche von Zerbst. As a result, it was belted in at both the waist and the chest and she had just about managed with her limited needlework skills to produce a hem a good five centimetres thick.

Her next project was going to be create straps for this strapless dress, so she wouldn't have to wear a blouse underneath so it covered... well, anything at all.

Apparently she had a crown-helmet-tiara thing somewhere down in the underlayers, near some kind of giant stone heart or something. That was as much as she could recall for the moment from the extensive talks from Gnarl this early in the morning.

Ever since the first morning, he had been tutoring her. Or, rather, in practice, he had been asking her questions to establish what she knew and the state of the world as a whole. It was all blending together in her mind, not helped by the fact that the only thing to drink down here was slightly stagnant tasting water and the suspiciously strong beer that the minions seemed to brew from mushrooms and whatever else they could get their hands on. Now at least she was doing something new. Sat on her throne – what a joke; it was an uncomfortable broken stone slab and she was sitting on her horse blanket – she watched as Gnarl paced back and forth in front of her. There were more of the goblin things with him, including...

"Louise the Vampire Slayer!"

... the jester. Oh yes, the jester. A _pathetic _little creature wearing a jester's hat from centuries ago and shaking an _obnoxious _stick with bells on it. And some of the things it said... she breathed heavily, trying to ignore its clanking. When Gnarl started talking again, it was a reassurance, because at least he was something to listen to.

"Your Evilness! I have splendid news. The Minions have reclaimed the library! Well, mostly. There are some small pockets of resistance... evil hands, giant bats, talking skulls who think that they are funny, but I'm sure the Minions will have fun crushing them." Gnarl cleared his throat. "And..."

"We find weapon in treasure rack!" announced one of the brown-skinned creatures. "Find two weapons! For you, mistress!"

"That is excellent news, Grinkle," Gnarl said, rubbing his hands together. "It is wonderful to hear that at least something escaped that disgusting vampire's attention. The library might not have been where the most powerful treasures were kept, but some of the more interesting ones were there. Back when we had a research staff, at least.

"And, your evilness, it would simply not do to have you walking around without a sign of your consummate power until we can push those stinking undead back away from the Tower Heart and recover your Gauntlet. Grinkle. Go finish killing everything in the library!" Several Minions scurried off with that order.

"Gauntlet," Louise echoed, shifting uncomfortable on her hard and cold seat. There had been so many words thrown at her over the past few days, many of which Gnarl pronounced as if they were capitalised, that she was rather losing track of them. "That was...ah, the thing. The thing that did the thing with..." she trailed off, "... with the stuff."

The old Minion stroked his goatee. "Indeed, mistress, and eloquently put. It is what absorbs magic and lifeforce from the corpses of your defeated foes, allows you to communicate simply and easily with the heart of your tower without the use of difficult and draining communications spells, and also provides many other useful functions."

Oh yes. That thing. It had sounded useful. Personally, Louise was just going to put up with this until she had mastered whatever magic she could learn here, but that did sound very useful.

"She who Looks Disgustingly Adorable in a Chemise!"

Louise stared up at the filthy ceiling and counted to ten. She wasn't going to have a tantrum in front of these goblins. She wasn't. Even when goaded by a stinking jester. It would be embarrassing. It would also be dangerous, because the exit was still sealed off and she couldn't run away if they decided they didn't want to follow her any more.

"The Zero!"

The pink-haired girl exploded into motion, leaping up with her teeth clenched. She landed on one foot, bringing the other around in an arc which would have probably have got her scolded by her etiquette tutor for being unfeminine. Well, unfeminine it may have been, but it was undeniably effective, and connected directly with the creature's face with a smooth follow-through.

The jester went flying back with a clank and a rattle, bounced three times, and fell with a scream through one of the holes in the floor.

Louise smirked in triumph, and then hopped around in agony as the pain kicked in. She had only been wearing her stockings, and that bl- ... that dratted creature had a hard skull.

"And that, mistress," Gnarl said, coming up behind her, "is why almost all figures of your evil stature wear armoured boots of some kind. That was a positively spiteful kick, though. It makes even a dark heart like mine swoon." He shuffled up to the mouth of the pit, and poked his head down. "I think this hole leads down to the place where that filth vampire threw freshly drained corpses down. Urgh. So unhygienic. And so wasteful."

From the depths, there was a clanking which sounded remarkably like a heavy stick with a rattle on the end being smashed into the skull of some undead horror.

"And it sounds like we'll have a day or so of peace and quiet," Gnarl added, cheerfully, "and he might clear out a few ghoulies down there. You might want to be keeping this hole around, mistress, even when we repair the rest of the Tower. And I do believe the minions want us to come to the library."

* * *

...

* * *

The smell of wet paper is a terrible thing, when it has been left to moulder and rot. Doubly so is this true in a library, for the scent that leaks out into the air is more than just mere rotting wood pulp. It is the decay of knowledge, the rotting of thought, and the all-consuming entropy of pancryptography.

Louise sniffed. Wait, no. That was rotting parchment wafting out of the grand doorway marked _LIBRVM_. And rotting vellum. And something musty. And blood, of course. Disgusting vampires.

But metaphorically at least, it smelt of decaying knowledge.

She had descended down a broken and worn staircase, trying her very best to move in her dress, down a level and then along a long corridor. With a hint of concern she had noted the littered bones and broken weapons which were scattered along the place. Her concern was... well, alleviated was too light a word, and also not technically accurate, but it was at least shifted when she had seen the state of her honour guard of minions. Several of them were now wielding bones or rusted swords.

One of them came scurrying up, out through the doorway. "Treasure! For you!" it announced proudly, presenting her with a small handful of... she squinted at the coins... they seemed to be a mix of tarnished sous and deniers. From the crest on the sous, they were around two hundred years old.

Which admittedly wasn't so bad; there was more silver in an old sou than there was in a modern one. What was worse was that fact that she had no pockets on her at the moment, not even a purse.

She coughed, and then coughed again in the stench. "Um, Gnarl," she managed, once she had gasped for air. "Do... uh, I have somewhere to keep these or... something?"

"Oh yes, yes," Gnarl said. The old goblin was leading the way, the glowing crystal hanging from the pole on his back providing a much cleaner light than the burning torch she had in her hand. "At the moment, your evilness, it has several chained up feral vampires in it, collared and leashed to attack anyone who can't control them."

"Oh," said Louise.

"No, it is of no account," Gnarl said, flapping a hand. "We stopped feeding them, so in a few more days they will have starved themselves into dormancy and then we can dispose of them if you order, mistress. And when we recover your gauntlet, its magic will be able to absorb such moneys and transfer it immediately to the treasury. It is a great tool for Evil, because it makes plundering, pillaging, piracy, pocketing and other profitable professional practices much more convenient. I mean, how many Overlords are forced to wander around with large purses? None of the _proper _ones, at least. It is a clear sign of an inferior dark lord or lady that they carry money on them."

He cleared his throat. "That is the other reason I anticipated your orders and put the very highest priority on getting the library cleared. Not only did I think there might be treasures in it, but that is where many of the magical texts were."

"That's very w-well," Louise said, "but what do I do with the coins now?"

Gnarl paused, and scratched his head. "Puzzling," he remarked. "Aha! Maggat!"

A goblin, slightly larger than most of the others stepped forwards, saluting sloppily. He – wait, did these things even have a gender? – was carrying a rusty sword quite casually in one hand. However, that was not his most prominent feature, because he appeared to have forced his head through a skeleton's ribcage to create some kind of crude bony armour. This general morbid theme was only supported by the fact that two human skulls were serving as pauldrons. "Boss?" it asked.

"Maggat! You are now promoted to the dark mistress' official purse!" Gnarl shot a glance at Louise. "It is acceptable for you to have other people carry your money for you. And Maggat is smarter than your average minion. He can count up to thirty-four."

"Fingers, toes, an' I gots four skeleton hands on belt for large numbers," the bone-armoured minion admitted bashfully.

"A veritable scholar," Gnarl agreed. "And he's strong too, so can carry the large sums which you will hopefully acquire in the short period before we reclaim the treasury."

"Um," Louise said, quite aware that the elderly goblin seemed to be rather overestimating her capacities in that field. "Here you go," she said, for lack of anything else to say, handing the coins to her new official pursegoblin. "But... Gnarl. You said the minions had found weapons in the library, but... I have my wand. And shouldn't the magical books in the library be more important?"

Gnarl wrinkled his nose at the thin piece of wood. "My lady, you are an _Overlady_. You are expected to have a weapon which can be used to hurt people even when you might not have even one smidgeon of magic to hand. One can never be careful, after all. And I don't think that thing would work if you tried to stab some armoured intruding knight through the eye. Even if you got it through that tiny armoured slit, it wouldn't be reliable enough." He started forwards again. "Oh, do not worry, my lady. There certainly used to be a vast number of books there. Evil has a fine history of sorceresses and such like; Overladies are typically more magically puissant than Overlords."

Louise did like the sound of the word 'puissant', she had to admit. What she did not like was the sight of the library.

It was not as bad as she had imagined.

It was worse.

The room had been a many-ringed hollow several storeys high; indeed, with the dim light of her lantern and Gnarl's crystal, she could not see how far it descended. The edge was a long, lazy slow spiral, which looped down and down. She could just about see broken bridges criss-crossing the centre, and further rooms leading off from the edge of the spiral. But looking at the book cases, they were a mess. The ones which were not bare were scattered with falling-apart or burned books. This place, this place which was larger than the one back at the Academy, this place which was now _hers_was a complete and utter mess.

Gnarl must have heard her faint moan, because he said, "You killed that disgusting vampire too quickly, my lady. One of the former Overlords spent a very long building up his collection, and..." he realised he was talking to thin air, as Louise was over at the nearest bookcase, running her hands over the ruined spines and making more distressed noises. "We used to have a properly sinister ghost to care for the collection, but..." he shook his head, "... the wardings are all fried, so I can only think that some necromancer must have released it. You may well need to find yourself a new chief librarian if you want to rebuild the collection to its former standards."

"Where are the magic books?" Louise ordered in a calm and commanding voice which merely happened to coincidentally sound precisely like an incoherent shriek. "Where are they? Are they safe?"

Behind her back as she ran off followed by her pursegoblin, Gnarl raised his eyebrows at one of the minions. The creature winced and raised its hands, palms facing forwards, fingers curled in, and made the universal motion of 'don't even ask'. Gnarl rolled his eyes, and sighed. "Grinkle," he said, "where are the weapons you found?"

The minion, now wearing a human skull as a hat, shrugged. "She go running in that direction," it said. "She very fast running. We not kill everything in there yet."

Gnarl sighed again.

From the distance, there was a trio of thunderous detonations, a short pause, and then two more. That was shortly followed by the sound of minionly cheering.

"Well," began Gnarl. "At least..."

Two more detonations sounded out, along with more cheering.

"Well, she..."

A snap of three thuds.

"She..." Gnarl paused and waited, counting to himself.

One final, louder one.

"... , fourteen, fifteen. At least she's picking up the important principles of her new role. A good leader is willing to lead from the front, inspiring by example and acts of extreme and pitiless brutality. And that there are very few problems that cannot be solved by application of sufficient force, apart from unsteady roof supports."

There was a crash, and a faint clanging noise, followed by another explosion.

"Grinkle," Gnarl said firmly. "What were the weapons you found? Were, by any chance the Vorpal Lance, the Staff of Destruction or the Lash of Ceaseless Malevolence among them?"

The skull-wearing minion shook its head. "Nuh uh. All gone." It cleared its throat. "I make list to help report. One. Giant Smashy Hammer of Grabthar the Smashy. I not think it very likely she lift it, because it giant and made of gold and also glow red hot when Evil creature try to pick it up. It burn! Very hot!"

"Ah yes," Gnarl said, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. "We had to use thirty Reds to move that in, back in the day."

"Item two! Staff."

There was another explosion, and a muffled, "Put down that book you blasted skeleton! Get him! Don't let him get away!"

"Oh, she is even learning the voice," Gnarl said approvingly. "It does wonderful things to hear a good old fashioned 'don't let him get away' used as if it's really meant." He paused, lost in thought for a moment. "Grinkle, which staff was it?" he added.

The minion shrugged. "Iron and black," it reported. "No fancy thingies on it. Probably not get sold because it not shiny."

Gnarl stroked his goatee. "Interesting," he said, slowly. "Very, very interesting." He hobbled forwards, to meet the soot-covered Louise, who had a black-bound book under one arm, and was leaning heavily on her newly found staff. Her eyes were burning an uncanny pink-tinged yellow. There was a small horde of similarly dirty minions behind her, but their gleaming eyes, burning green runes, wide grins and of course the fact that they were rather shorter made her easy to tell apart.

"I stopped... I stopped... skeleton was going to take this book," Louise managed. "Felt the magic from it. Also it was in good condition unlike everything else. Probably earth magic in the bindings." She glanced down at it groggily down at the book. "It wasn't black then," she added. "Soot. Staff was there. Useful for beatings."

"Explosion bigger-er. Bigger-er-er-er with staff," reported her pursegoblin. "Also, flying skully go smashy when she hit it. She hit it at Krikit, and he hit it with club, and it go flying and smash into wall. It funfun."

"She good mistress!" Grinkle said, approvingly, turning to face Gnarl. "Big booms. Lots of them, too."

"Indeed," Gnarl said thoughtfully. "Although I feel we should perhaps accompany the Overlady back to her boudoir. I feel we will not be able to get as far as I would have hoped today, but then again, she appears to have acquired a tome. I will have to begin her tutoring in the Black Arts of Magic, to go with her tutoring in the Black Arts of Minion Management, the Crimson Arts of Combat, and the Blackest Art of Bureaucracy." He turned on his heel, and headed back towards the exit.

* * *

...


	3. Part 1-3

_"Who knows what Evil lurks in the hearts of mankind? Well, me. Most of the time it isn't that impressive compared to a brand new Minion, let alone one who's had time to get up to speed and pick up a few shinies." _

_- Gnarl_

* * *

…

* * *

Louise closed the book with a snap, and repressed the urge to giggle. It really was that simple. It had taken her almost two days to work her way through the highly technical text, but; ah! The understanding! The glorious understanding!

Carefully, she placed the tome back on the table before her – opening it again, because she realised that it probably made sense for her to be able to read the book when trying things out. Again, she ran her eyes over the main text describing the magic itself, and tried not to giggle. The main problem had been understanding the theory, which seemed to work at a somewhat deeper level than the magical texts back at the Academy. And she had needed to yell at her minions until they found her a book which allowed her to translate the runes the spell itself was written in into a modern alphabet, but they had managed to do that overnight.

She wasn't quite sure why they had written only the spell in the runic symbols, but it did make it easier to find when she lost her place in the text.

The girl took a deep breath, trying to restrain her elation. Louise gripped tightly around her staff of black iron with her right hand, its solidity reassuring in her grasp. Holding her other hand out in the same claw-like gesture that the book's picture marked, she mouthed the incantation to herself, running over the pronunciation. It was longer and more complicated than a normal spell; not something she would want to cast in an emergency.

Entirely deliberately, Louise de la Vallière cast the spell. The air around her claw gesture began to waver and steam, heat-hazes flowing off it like water. And as she pronounced the last syllable, an apple-sized ball of pink flame flared to life, throwing off thick clouds of off-white smoke. It hovered between her fingers.

The girl began to giggle, and then laugh, until tears ran from her eyes. She had done it! She really, really had done it! It was real magic! Of the kind she could even use to pretend to be a fire mage! Her grandfather had been one, after all! She had done it!

Entranced by her own magic she waggled her digits; wide eyed, the girl watched how the shape of the ball flexed and twisted as she moved her hand. She could feel the heat radiating off it – she certainly didn't want to get her face too close – but her fingers felt no more than slightly warm. The book had said that the flows of 'darkest magics devouring the living fire of the world and taking on some of its nature' (which was frankly rubbish) protected the hand of the user, but this felt uncanny.

Could... could she shape the ball? More than just into the sort-of-sausage-shape it ended up as if she squeezed her fingers together? Make something from it? Maybe... an arrow? Or maybe a sword or whip or some other kind of weapon? Any further pondering, however, was interrupted by the growing desire to sneeze as the smoke from the ball of pink fire made her cough and splutter.

Survival instincts told her that scratching her nose while holding a ball of fire would be a very bad idea. But what if she... Louise coughed, breathing onto it, and the ball of fire rushed out like fire dragon's breath. It washed over one of the half-rotten tables and left it only ashes. Panicked, the girl squeaked and dropped her staff, and the fire went out.

Well, the fire in her hand went out. The fire in the room continued to burn, albeit no-longer pink, and added its own smoke to the thick white fumes of the magic.

"... um," Louise managed, in shock.

Surprisingly, the fire did not respect her astonishment, but instead continued to burn. Hastily, the girl snatched up the book of magic and tried to back away from the fire.

"... help!" she called out, after running over what she could actually do to stop a fire. Neither miscast explosions nor more fire would help put it out, which meant that she would have to risk calling on the minions. "Fire!"

The clatter of bare feet against stone announced the arrival of a small army of goblins. Who proceeded to 'help' in a very 'helpful' manner.

"Oooh!"

"Ahh!"

"No, no, fire bad!" Louise shrieked, her vocabulary momentarily degenerating to Minion-like levels. She tried to take a calming breath, only to remember that smoke was not conducive to such things. "Extinguish it! Don't just gawk at it! Go... throw some water on it or something." She whirled, as a sixth sense warned her. "Don't you dare!" Louise screamed at a pre-emptively somewhat-scorched goblin carrying a burning torch. "Put the fire _out_!"

The beast looked confused. "But I trying to fight fire with fire," it said.

Louise merely let out an incoherent yell, and apparently one glance at her glowing eyes was enough to convince the creatures that their mistress was not kidding. Well, that or whatever self-preservation they had was enough to tell them that if they did not put them out, they courted the risk that their mistress would set them on fire.

Eventually, with much stamping, moderate amounts of 'fire being hit with weapons', and two minions set ablaze from trying to punch it, the accidental bonfire was extinguished. Louise was not there to see that, however, because she was outside out of the smoke, being reprimanded by Gnarl.

Oh, certainly, the elderly goblin would not have called it that. It was mere advice, good guidance for an Overlady who was perhaps lacking in practical experience so that she might avoid well-trodden paths which might lead to her having her head cut off by a wandering Hero.

"My lady," Gnarl said, tapping his stick against the ground. "Please remember; maniacal laughter is always good, but not when holding exhalable fire."

Louise blushed, and shuffled her feet, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl. "I coughed, not laughed," she muttered.

It was, nonetheless, most certainly a reprimand. She was feeling a little resentful for the fire and this... this silliness ruining her memories of the first proper spell she had managed. Actually, the slightly worrying thing was how much _sense _the spells in the book all made. It was like she was wearing comfortable shoes for the first time in her life, and got to see how everyone else managed to run. It felt... strange, scary, and wonderful.

Of course, she actually had comfortable shoes on right now. That was probably where the metaphor had come from. The minions had found a closet full of women's clothing, and even though most of it had likely come from peasants, there had been some from noblewomen. One of them had feet the same size as her.

Louise realised that she should probably be paying attention to Gnarl rather than thinking about how good it was to have shoes which fit her, and turned her attention back on the goblin.

"... and my lady, although I must say this was not entirely successful, at least you are getting the grasp of minion control. Shouting and firm orders, that's the way to do it. Minions respond well to cruelty, brute displays of violence, and being told to do what they wanted to do anyway. If you don't want to do one of those three, then you need to do more of the other two. Everything will be much easier when you have your gauntlet, of course, but I am starting to fear that you may need to lead a small horde down there before you can get it."

"Or I could go out and hire some mercenaries who know how to put out fires without setting themselves ablaze," she said, squaring her jaw. "If I'm meant to be... to be an Overlady, I need better servants than... than clowns!"

"Clowns?" Gnarl sounded genuinely shocked. "Minions are the best... well, minions you can get."

"Could have fooled me."

"Your Evilness," Gnarl said, crocking his finger at her, "you seem to be under some misapprehensions. Come with me to the throne room, while I set you straight. I see I have left this off too long."

* * *

...

* * *

Her 'throne room' was at least starting to look a little bit cleaner, after she told the goblins to scrub the floors and throw the rubbish in the corners down the holes in the floor. It still was not a pretty place – nor a place where one could walk without falling down several storeys into a pit filled with the hungry dead, but at least it was something.

Louise settled down on the cushions on her throne, staff resting against the side, and waited for whatever boring lecture Gnarl was about to give.

"Long ago," Gnarl began, "the first and mightiest of the Overlords was having a jolly Evil time. He was sweeping across Halkeginia, pillaging and plundering, conquering and corrupting, killing pathetic elves and stupid dwarves with glee, having unicorn barbeques and clubbing baby seals on the north coast to death."

Louise frowned. "No, that's not right. I know this," she said, taking refuge in pettiness. The things Gnarl was talking about were rather too much to think of - though, of course, it just went to show that for all his talk of 'Evil', he was fundamentally wrong. Killing elves wasn't an evil act. Although... well, killing people just because they were short probably was. "Cattleya wanted one and then it turned out the climate was too warm for them and Mother refused to build her an ice house as an extension to her wing of the house. Seals don't live on the north coast. "

"Not any more, my lady," Gnarl said, sounding self-satisfied. "Seals aren't to be trusted, you know. They can see into your soul. But, you see, in his imperial darkness he was running into a teeny tiny problem. You see, his hordes of men, armoured in black iron and riding very bad tempered ponies took rather a lot of casualties when carrying out perfectly normal raids, and humans take so long to make new humans. Sometimes as long as two decades! That was a problem, because when you were trying to do perfectly reasonable things like burning down all the stupid smelly forests of the elves filled with magical lifeforms irrationally hating Evil, and storming the heavily armoured and fortified fortresses of the dwarves and burning them to the ground and taking all their shiny gold, they tended to object in ways that killed lots of his dark forces. So he, in his Evil genius, started looking for easier ways to acquire legions of darkness

"Oh, he tried so many things to make a superior race of fighting construct. He tried drugging captured elves with everything he could think of. The first lot of drugs had those pathetic long-eared whiners talking about 'bad trips' and the like. Pyah!" Gnarl spat down one of the holes in the floor. "Even when he tried moving to stronger things - including one delightfully Evil potion made from minotaur testes - to make the elves man-up, all he managed to make were orcs. And orcs might be big and muscled, but they are very, very, very stupid. And always so obsessed with getting stronger. They were fine shock-troopers, but were not what he was looking for.

"Other experiments followed. Fireflies were raw Evil woven into fire life force, but they proved too hot to handle. He couldn't work how to get the digestive tract to work in centaurs and almost all of them starved to death. I'm not even sure he knew what he was doing when he decided to cut people in half and glue them to half a fish; neither mermen or menmer were good ideas for someone who was trying to conquer the land. He did spent some time playing around with necromancy, but... my lady, you saw how pathetic a skeleton is compared to a Minion. And the less said about his failed attempts as a contract lawyer and demonologist, the better."

Louise shifted slightly in her seat, noticing the avid minions creeping in around Gnarl. They seemed to be listening raptly. Every little face was turned towards the older goblin.

"And so, in the end, he made the very first Minion. And once he had made the first, then he created the minion hives to produce the new-made master-race en masse."

Louise smiled faintly, at the rather ridiculous notion. It was more than a little pretentious, and considerably more stupid.

"Laughing would not be a good idea," Gnarl said, seriously. "My lady, we are the best friends you will ever have, your most loyal servants, and... fools put their trust in Heroes. The genius, the sheer Evil of the first Overlord was to realise that it does not matter that a Hero might be able to kill a hundred Minions who attack them when two hundred charge. Perhaps you did not pay attention truly yesterday when I explained what a minion hive does. Or perhaps you merely did not think it through properly."

The girl said nothing, because she vaguely remembered him saying something about some kind of place where the goblins really wanted to live, but did not want to show any ignorance. She was starting to get more than a little bit annoyed at Gnarl's attitude, as if she was a simple child who knew nothing. She would have been rather more annoyed if... uh, she didn't actually need the simple explanations most of the time.

But when she had learned enough to make him unnecessary, then she could get out of here and take her new knowledge with her.

"A minion hive is the pinnacle of Evil soul-alchemy," Gnarl explained. "Taking the life-force of your slain foes and other stinking creatures like sheep and ponies, it weaves it together with raw Evil to birth a new Minion. There are four hives in all; one for each of the common kinds of Minion. And let me tell you this; with but _one_of them and a sufficient source of lifeforce of the appropriate kind, you could rule all of Tristain. The Brown one would be the best, because Browns are made from a mix of elemental energies and do not require the water-specialty of the Blues, the fire of the Reds, or the blend of earth and water – with traces of air – of the Greens. But make no mistake. All a minion hive requires is lifeforce. From there, you could produce hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of new Minions."

Maggat raised his hand. "Miss Reds," he contributed. "Got easy hot meals around them."

"Most of the Minions left at the tower are Browns, yes," Gnarl said, gravely. "The Greens quit and wondered off into the woods, the Reds... well, vampires have never been too fond of fire, and the Blues turned out to be rather tasty. There are a few, here and there, but... no great number."

"Also, Blues so useful," Maggat added. "If die, they bring you back. Someone once ask me if Minion bought back is same Minion who die, or new one who has all same memories. I say I think I is me, except when I gets very drunk and forgets who I is."

Gnarl clutched his hands around his stick. "Oh, it would be so nice to have some little cheerful faces around the place, ready to loot and plunder and kill," he said, sentimentally. "We're all very old by Minion standards, especially me. And much as it shames me to admit it, most of the Minions here come from goblin stock."

Louise blinked. "Wait," she said, raising one hand carefully. Her mind was a-whirl, and all the joy and happiness of her first proper spell seemed to have leaked out of her, as Gnarl went on and on about... about all the death which would be required to feed these Minion-making machines. She didn't want to do that. Not one bit. "Goblin stock? I thought... well, you are goblins, right?"

There was a clatter of splatters, as various Minions around the room spat on the ground.

"Nope!"

"Urgh!"

"Not anymore!"

"... I never ever ever ever be that kind of thing! Me from proper hive!"

Gnarl raised one hand and the room feel quiet. "It's not her fault; it's been so long since there was a proper Overlord around with a hive that it's no wonder she only thinks we're," he made a disgusted noise, "goblins. No, your ladyship, we are _not_goblins. Goblins are inferior, cut-price, degenerated, filthy, stinking terrible, useless, base pathetic creatures."

He paused. "No offense to those of you who came from goblin stock, of course," he added, "but it is true. A proper Minion is a creature of raw and base Evil and stolen lifeforce, spawned from the terrible and mighty power of a minion hive, blended with the temperament and personality of the most vicious, treacherous, and sneaky creature mankind knows." He snorted. "A goblin is no more than a little bit Evil, and they're much weaker. Could five goblins lift that fallen bit of ceiling over there?"

There was a clatter as four minions leapt to obey the implied suggestion, their small-yet-wiry bodies straining as they lifted a lump of rock larger than all four of them combined.

"Um," said Louise.

"And that is why calling a proper and true Minion a 'goblin' is an insult!" Gnarl insisted. "Oh, you can recruit goblins, and you will have to – once you have the tower heart controlled, you can convert goblins into Minions, but they can never be quite as good as a _true _Minion."

"Oh." The girl paused. "And... so," she trailed off, thinking hard, "so... goblins are wild Minions, without someone to follow?"

"Crudely true," Gnarl said, dismissively. "There is also the matter of birth; the crude alchemies they use to continue their race are poor compared to a proper minion hive, and collecting bodies together to let them rot and grow new goblins in is a poor substitute for proper refined life force. Still, needs must. Even when some of them have re-developed," the minion gagged, "romance for the purposes of reproduction."

Louise's mouth flapped open, and then closed again. She opened it. She closed it. "Wait," she said, eventually. "Eleanore was _right?_ My annoying smug self-righteous violent older sister who gets in duels all the time with other researchers over theories was _right _about where goblins came from? From putting their flesh in rotting meat and that kind of thing?"

Gnarl narrowed his eyes. "A human worked that out?" he muttered. "Curses. What is her background? Could she be a rival Overlady?"

The girl blinked. "I don't think so," she said, eventually. "Eleanore is... well, um. She's sort of built like me and Mother, but blonde, and... um. Er, she's a magical researcher at the University of Amstelredamme. I think she's... um, not likely to do that... this kind of thing. It would get in the way of her research." Louise narrowed her eyes. "Though of course, um, she's much more likely to be evil than my other sister," she added darkly. "Oh, I wouldn't be surprised of Eleanore would be evil, given half... no, a third of a chance. Compared to her, Cattleya is s-sickly, pale, and she can't even leave the house because she's always ill and has fainting spells. And... and she's the kindness, gentlest person I have ever known! I wish I was more like her," she added, forlornly.

Gnarl's beady eyes scrutinised her, and the girl could not help but feel a little guilty and even more offended by her arrogant 'chief advisor'. How dare he look so knowing! How dare he stare at her like he thought that she didn't actually want to be ill and too prone to weakness and all the things Cattleya suffered from; that she just wanted her appearance! She wasn't that shallow! Not one bit. She really did want to be nice like her. She... just had a temper and didn't do well with people. That was it.

"And of course, as you have reminded me several times, you are Lousie de la Vallière. The third daughter of a duke," Gnarl said, stroking his goatee. "Yes, that's a good, traditional Evil background. The youngest child. The one who everyone always looks down on. The one who has everything to prove. You have a Respectable one, a Kind one, and you... the Evil one.

"And a de la Vallière, yes," the creature added approvingly. "Oh, I know your family of old. A nicely traditional one. Louis de la Vallière was someone I would have liked to have met; a true military genius. All those impaling and executions of people who got in his way. Properly knowing how to strike fear into the hearts of your foes, that's what that is. And your name is so much like his; I have great hopes for you, my lady. I had heard rumours that the current duke had gone soft, but then again that was a vampire ranting when I was locked in a cage, so it was not the most reliable information"

She preened a little at the praise of herself, even as her conscience told her that what he was saying was not a good thing. And that the little gobli... Minion was probably trying to make her easier to persuade with all that praise. "And, well, my mother is the duchess, Karin, and she used to be a soldier and a champion and part of the Manticore Knights..."

There were gasps all around, and even Gnarl flinched. "Not... not Karin of the Heavy Wind!" the elderly goblin managed.

"Wait," she protested, her voice rising. "You said you had been locked up in that cage for decades! How in Brimir's name do you know about my mother!"

"Oh, everyone knows about Karin of the Heavy Wind, your evilness," Gnarl said with a faint hint of surprise in his voice. "Why, she killed Duke Estashu, who called himself 'the Midnight Unicorn of Sorrows', led the Unicorn Knights in their very Evil plans of dominion and conquest, and employed many poor out-of-work orcs and trolls and the like in all kinds of roles, especially looking after his bloodthirsty unicorns. Very fond of horses, that man, so I hear. _Very _fond. Oh, how that disgusting slob of a vampire raged at the news, because he had foolishly leant money to him. She murdered dozens of perfectly innocent cultists in the Black Nunnery of Trecht. She killed Kerrjo, the Black Poet of Shadows. And he was a dragon, so that was no small feat. Just because he was Evil, rather than for a proper reason like the fact that he was really bad at rhymes."

"Really bad," one of the lesser minions, who was wearing a floppy hat which looked like it had been taken from some merchant, confirmed. "Once, he try to make 'lemon' go with 'demon', and when people object, he say that," the minion concentrated, "he say that 'the contra-sense and vio-lay-shun of patterns is statement of de-literate intent'. I think that rubbish, but he giant flying lizard size of house who not take criticism well."

"In fact," Gnarl continued, "she has persecuted harmless little creatures of Evil all over the land with her disgustingly Heroic hands just because of the colour of their skin, their species, or merely because they were Evil."

"She very scary," one of the minions said in a hushed voice. "They say, if you see her and you Evil, it already too late. If you not see her, you maybe only seconds from death."

"I hear that she once wind blow Evil giant so hard, it blow up like balloon and then she pop it," added another one. "All Heroes scary, but she very scary. She not sleep. She waits."

Louise slammed her fist down on the arm of her throne. "That is enough!" she commanded.

"Under her armour, she no has fingers. She only have more wands. For more magic."

"Enough!"

"They say she blow Overlord so hard he go flying up into sky and only leave tiny twinkle behind, and that where that song come from," one hapless Minion continued in the silence.

Silently, Louise rose, eyes two burning beacons in the ill-lit hall. A perceptive observer might have noticed that she was biting on her lip, which was – despite her valiant efforts – wobbling, as if she was about to cry.

And she turned and ran out of the hall, leaving her staff behind.

"Oh, I had forgotten how hard it was handling trainee Overlords and Overladies," Gnarl said with a sigh. "Especially when they're only teenagers. The boys are always more interested in either writing sappy poetry, acquiring a harem, or getting petty revenge on people who have offending them, while the girls... well, they always seem to have so many family issues and even more petty revenges. This one... oh, if the rumours are true, she has two Heroes for parents."

"Poor mistress," said the Minion in the floppy hat. "She not get proper in-viro-mint for Evil talents. No wonder she..." the creature made what was probably meant to be a bird noise, but sounded rather more like a crushed bag of crisps, "... she not all there in her head. She think she Hero."

"Oh, quite so. I wonder if her talents come from there. Good and Evil are so very close at times; just look at how many proper terrible figures of darkness have thrice-damned Heroes for children, and how many children of Heroes come to their senses. But if both her parents are Heroes... we will need to be more careful." Gnarl paused. "Or, rather, I will be more careful, and I will send any Minion who is stupid in front of me to be in the front waves of the attacks to reclaim the tower heart."

Maggat rubbed the brand on his left hand. "What if she run away, Boss?" he asked, nervously. "If we no have master, everything be bad again. And not just because we not have funny booms to watch."

"She won't. Even now, she will go sulk off into her room, decide that the best way to act against Evil is to learn as much of it as possible so she is warned and armed against it, and... hmm," Gnarl stroked his goatee. "Yes, she looks like the sort to rationalise that Evil does not exist, and it's just a matter of opinion. That's a terrible habit, because it means you try to do Good in the name of Evil, but she'll lose that in time."

"You sure, boss?" said another one. "She tricksy, in a sort of violent way. Like how she trick us into setting ourselves on fire by pretending that it accident and then telling us to put it out."

"Evil is in her blood," Gnarl said, simply. "For all that she might try to fight it or deny it, she was born to be an Overlady. And Evil always finds a way."

He paused.

"Also, Licket, report to the duty torturer for the inestimable stupidity of that last comment."

* * *

...


	4. Part 1-4

_"Louise, you have to realise that not everyone is nice all the time. Sometimes even I can be a real pain in the neck. But there are people who try to be nice and sometimes fail, and there are people who don't even try. Try to be one of the first type, 'kay?"_

– Cattleya Yvette La Baume Le Blanc de la Vallière

* * *

...

* * *

Through the dank and squalid halls of her ruined tower, Louise de la Vallière stumbled, tears blurring her vision.

Her mother was going to kill her. Metaphorically and, sadly, literally. She was a dead woman walking. She was doomed. Doomed. No way out at all. Her mother was infamous for killing evil things, to the extent that even a stupid smelly goblin who had been locked in a cage for eighty years had heard of her. And she just _knew _that if one thing could make her mother come out of retirement, it would be to hunt down a daughter who was 'dishonouring the family name'. A stupid, useless, dead weight of a daughter who turned out to be evil.

Her mother was going to kill her.

She could run away. No, wait, she couldn't. She'd tried that already, and ended up in this mess in the first place. And now she knew evil magic and had felt that feeling of rightness, of properness when using evil spells which meant that – nonsensically, impossibly – her element was evil. Oh, certainly, she could make fire, but it was evil fire! Normal fire didn't burn like that, didn't make choking burning smoke like that!

Also, the entrance way hadn't been cleared yet. And she had a tower partially full of goblins who were all her familiars and probably would follow her and she still didn't have a normal familiar and… argh!

Her mother was going to _kill _her.

Panting, tired, she slumped down against a wall, and then shrieked as she realised that it was wet and smelt strongly of mould. The back of her dress would be _ruined_. Hands balled into fists, she pulled herself to her feet wearily, and stomped off to find a more convenient wall to slump against.

It was only when she heard the knocking from the other side that she realised that the wall was in fact a door. A heavy, cast iron door, with a white 'V' daubed on it.

"Hey!" someone whispered from the other side. Their accent was somewhat coarse; they sounded very much like a northern peasant from somewhere around the La Rochelle area. "Who's it out there? Is it 'nother one of them stinking goblings? Louis? Is that you? Can you let me out or something, or at least give me some food. I ran out, an' I'm real sorry for getting in a fight with Claudine! I promise I won't do nothing bad like that no more!"

Louise groaned.

"I bet you had a hard day, moi darlin'," the woman added, with an obvious faint note of desperation in her voice. "I'll be all ready to do all the special stuff an' I'll do that thing with the other brides that you like so much. Just let me out an' let me have food an' I'll be all ready for you just like you want, yeah? I'll even settle for one of them goblings."

Pulling herself up for the second time, and peeking through the slot in the door, Louise could see that the room was a woman's bedroom – and a rather better one than the one she was currently using. The woman on the other side of the door only looked to be a few years older than her, if that, and was pale and dark haired, a slightly exotic cast about her features. She was also wearing badly applied lip rouge and streaked and smeared charcoal under her eyes which looked like it had been applied by a blind clown wearing boxing gloves.

"Louis? That you? Or is it one of them stinking goblings?" the woman asked, a faintly nasal whine entering her voice.

Louise took a deep breath. "No," she said, slowly. "I'm Louise. Louise de la Vallière. I'm… who are you? Why are you locked up in here?"

"The master of this place, the lord, 'e locked me up in here because I fought one of 'is other brides," the woman said, her face pale. "Who are you?"

"I… he's dead now," Louise answered. Apparently this peasant was not the sharpest knife in the drawer – or even the sharpest knife in the spoon compartment – given that she had, in fact, just given her name. "He's locked you up in here and isn't feeding you?"

The woman cowered. "Please don't hurt me!" she begged. "What… what are you, some kinda Hero?" Her hands went up to cover her mouth. "I… I was a maid in one of the nearby castles but… but the vampire… 'e takes 'is brides from places around and he tooked me away and put me in 'ere." The other woman began to sob. "I just want to go 'ome," she said, turning away from Louise. "Please!"

Louise looked around wildly. She certainly didn't have any keys, but… ah, yes. She could do that. "Stand back!" she instructed, as she began to chant the spell for the fire. Maybe she might be able to melt off the lock if she did it this way – certainly, it burned hot enough to melt iron if applied for long periods, so she should probably be able to fry the door if she tried hard enough.

As she expected, the metal hissed and bubbled as she applied the orb to it, and with a pop the entire lock fell out of the door, splatting on the floor and and bubbling sparks. Nudging the dark bit of the door with her shoe, the girl pushed it open, and took a look around.

And since she was no longer constrained to what she could see through a narrow slit, she took in what was in the room

She blinked.

She looked again, and her eyes, flaring bright, glared at the peasant.

"I can explain," the woman began, a hint of fang visible as she spoke.

Louise cast gouts of pink fire into the room. Again and again and again, starting with the dark-haired woman and moving onto the other... things. Panting, coughing, trembling in rage, she did not dismiss the ball of fire in her hand, instead holding it before her like a talisman in the smoke-filled room.

That… that… that…

She began to sob, flame still held aloft as if its light was the only thing that could protect her. Again and again, she lobbed fire into the room, openly weeping, until the smoke forced her away from the entrance and the screaming stopped.

She… the woman had been a vampire. She had killed her. Burned her alive. Burned her undead. And in there… oh Founder. Oh God.

There was… had been… a - oh God, she didn't even want to think it - a paper-dry, shrivelled corpse of a child in there... anyone who would condemn her for that was almost as bad as the vampire. Almost, but not quite.

No, nothing was as bad as that grey parchment-skinned pathetic lump that had been in the corner, skin wrapped tight around the skull, the hollow eyesockets staring accusingly at her. That was not a metaphor. It... it was still moving. It... it...

Louise retched, and emptied her stomach of her breakfast made of suspicious fungus bread and dubious fungal beer onto the floor. And heaved again and again, until only bile came out.

It wasn't so bad when they were only skeletons. Even though there had been some child-sized skeletons down there, they were just clean bone. They weren't someone only dead maybe a week, who... who might have still been alive when she ended up in this forsaken sticking horrible ruined tower.

And however much Gnarl talked about 'evil' and the like, no. This thing gave Louise sudden certainty in her own mind. As long as you had faith and enjoyed the state of grace, it was what you did which really mattered. Magic wasn't good or evil; it simply was. It didn't matter if the spell you cast was called "Hellfire" or "Fireball"; certainly not compared to who you were casting it _at_.

If Gnarl said that her power was pure evil… well, _she _never would drain a child dry of blood and then reanimate the corpse. If he called her 'evil', then that was his opinion, but that was something she would never, ever do. Which meant that either what the vampire had done was not evil – which was utterly ridiculous – or his definition was wrong. And that made far more sense, because… well, she was quite aware that there were corrupt, treasonous nobles and priests and the like who justified their actions as being good when they were doing things unbecoming of their station.

It was one of the things her mother had always told her; the ore of intention and will must be forged by actions into the steel of proper conduct. Nobles who acted in improper ways, for all that they might claim to be honourable, were unbecoming of the title. Priests who broke their vows were not good, for all that they might read the holy books of Brimir. One could have all the best intentions in the world, but if one did not _act_to carry out that intent, sat back and let evil things happen, or broke one's vows to queen and country… such a person was not good, no matter what they said.

And if that was true for good, why was it not also true for evil? Why could evil creatures not actually be doing good things, but justifying it as evil because that was the way they were raised? Their perspective on the world might be inverted and be wicked and sinful, but just as men could fall… who could say that goblins could not rise?

Louise smiled to herself. Yes. She would say proudly to Gnarl that she would be the Evil Overlady for Evil Itself, and only she would know what she meant by that. So what if her magic was allegedly evil? When she killed a vampire with pink-burning fire which let off choking white smoke, how was that different from Kirche von Zerbst doing it with smokeless orange fire? The vampire was left just as dead, and the world was made a better place because of it.

"Rule of Steel," she whispered to herself.

So she would train to be "evil". She would learn her magic, what it could do, and how best to use it. She would take control of the minions, and enslave goblins from the wilderness where they could no longer attack villages; instead they would obey her. And she would keep her own council, and act as _she _saw fit and proper action, and would not let a stupid old goblin define her as evil. She knew right, she knew wrong, and she knew the difference between the two. And doing that with a child could never, ever, ever be right, no matter what deeds some ancient goblin might attribute to 'good' and 'evil'. And killing a vampire who had done that could never, ever be wrong.

She would act as her mother would have her act, and make her proud.

No matter what monsters she might face.

_Louise swung her staff around in a half-circle, sending the skeleton's head flying. Stepping back, she chanted the spell for her fire, and the pink-burning orb formed in her hand. "Get back!" she yelled at the minions ahead of her who were enthusiastically tearing their way through the dead, before she lobbed the ball of fire overarm._

_It hit a lurching, putrid zombie in the chest, and the mindless undead creature went up like a torch, burning bright pink. The thick clouds of fluffy white smoke coiled around it, and the other zombies nearby visibly charred in the heat. Sadly, the girl thought, they didn't need to breath._

_Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a movement along the ceiling, made visible by the burning zombie. The spider-scuttling human on the ceiling... no, vampire she realised, looking at the red-glowing eyes... was heavily muscled and clawed, with a maw full of sharp fangs and..._

_"Fireball!"_

_The miscast knocked it off the ceiling, trapping its arm under a fallen rock, and then it was all over for the vampire as the Minions fell upon it._.

No matter what unpleasant deeds she might have to do.

_Louise folded her arms, and glared. "Oh no you don't!" she ordered. "Get on your feet, all of you! None of you are getting to rest until at the very least you have whitewashed the left wall of the main hall! We'll redecorate later, but I am not holding court in a room covered in old bloodstains!"_

_"Your evilness," wailed Gnarl, "this is not done! You can't be an Overlady in a plain whitewashed hall! You should at least be blackwashing it! White is not an evil colour! Except when it's bone-white. But that's..."_

_Louise raised a hand. "Maggat," she said simply._

_"Oooh, ooooh!" the beskulled minion said enthusiastically. "Mistress and I do money counting, and she realise we not have money to do painting of walls and like. So I go visit Igni, and he mix some things together, and then there explosion. Then I fetch Scyl and he bring Igni back from dead. Then we try more things, and there lots of skellies lying around, and we find we can make white paint from bones! And I tell mistress, and she say I do well and can has beer! So paint is made from bones of victims!"_

_Gnarl pursed his lips. "That... is... acceptable..." he said slowly, as if the words were pulled out from him._

_Sitting on her throne, Louise tried not to smirk._

No matter what horrors she might face.

_"And now," said Gnarl, "we move onto finance and accounting. One of the most important rules for being a dark lord… or lady in your case… is ensuring that sufficient copies are made of vital documents. This is something that half-bit pathetic wannabe Overlords, like that disgusting vampire never learn. If you don't keep proper records of your tax, tribute and pillaging gains, and of outgoing expenditures, you might not notice that some Heroic thief is stealing from you or that the giant gold statue of yourself is beyond your means. And that, my lady, simply will not do."_

_Gnarl coughed, and clicked his fingers, prompting four minions to come running in laden down with heavy books._

_"I advise you, my lady, to devote your spare time to reading up on these books. Start with 'The Basics of Accountancy', before moving onto more advanced texts like 'Implementing a Triple Leger Scheme in Large Scale Organisations', 'Von Nuyher's Guide' – that's a rather good book on demonic contract law, although really no more than a primer for the field – and my very favourite book, 'Legers and Tables of Standardised Exchange Rates for Incorporeal Valuables'. It's really a gripping read. And this is only volume one; there are four more! Oh, I do hope they bought out a new edition when I was imprisoned!"_

She would make her parents proud of her.

* * *

...

* * *

And so it came to pass, almost three months later, that Louise de Vallière lowered her hand, watching as the monster made from three stitched-together reanimated orcs fell to the ground. Around her was the crackle of fireballs from the few Red minions she had, the moaning of the living dead, and the enthusiastically violent noises that minions made when beating a zombie to death – undeath, redeath, whatever – with its own arm.

The noises died down. Louise ignored the chatter of the minions as they began to deliver their plundering to Maggat, who had acquired from somewhere – Louise was not sure she wanted to know where – a large burlap sack to carry such things.

"Treasure! For you!" announced a minion, presenting her with a gold necklace. The beast had just acquired an opera cape for itself, and appeared to want to be getting back to the looting.

"Put it in the sack," Louise said, sighing as she looked around the chamber. She was getting _really _sick of that phrase, along with 'For you', 'For the Overlady', and _especially _'For the Overlord' from those minions who were still rather slow at learning the details of human sexes. Human genders. Yes. That was what she meant.

For the first time, she could pause for a moment to look around the place and so get to really see the room that she had just finally – after several failed attempts which had cost her minions – taken. Surprisingly, the still-burning corpses were not the main source of light down here. That honour instead belonged to the blue-glowing orb which hovered in mid-air, between a stalagmite and a stalactite which almost touched. There were giant ruined statues all around the edge of the room, their heads alone taller than she was, and either the artists had been terrible, or at least one of them had originally been a woman's body before a man's head had been used to replace the original ones. The remaining eyes on the heads glowed like her own eyes, adding orange-yellow light to the blue from the orb and the pink of her fires. The floor of this area was built at its level, and so no small number of undead – and the occasional minion – had taken fatal falls over the edge of the platform, to whatever lay below.

Louise was not quite sure she wanted to know. Over the past few months, she had her minions had clawed their way down nearly five storeys. The revelation that this place went deeper was unwelcome, especially since the various undead monstrosities down here had gotten tougher and more... manufactured. Like that thing made from three orcs sewn together.

"This was the old throne room, my lady," said Gnarl from directly behind her, which made Louise nearly jump out of her skin. Somehow, the ancient goblin had made his way behind her, delicately picking his way over the various mashed and mangled corpses of the undead. "The thirteenth Overlady had it moved. Or was it the fourteenth? Memory fades with time. Oh well. Possibly the only sensible thing she did, because she didn't last long. It has a more impressive view, but it was so much harder to get to. Still, this is the tower heart. Somewhat damaged, but still operational. And..." he pointed with one bony finger, "... that, my lady, is the Gauntlet."

Almost lost in the blue glow of the tower heart was a small bubble of bloody red light. There was something in it; something which looked like a fist.

Carefully, deliberately Louise began to walk towards the large orb. It was not merely out of a sense of the dramatic. The causeway-bridge-thing-whatever which lead to it was littered with bodies, and also got rather narrow in places. She really did not want to slip and fall here. It would be highly embarrassing.

Also fatal, if the fall went over the edge into the... darkness. Which reached down and down and down, beyond the light of the tower heart and... now she was getting woozy and this was _really _not the time for vertigo.

Why were there no safety rails here? Why why why why?

Mercifully, the platform got wider as it looped around the tower heart, and Louise could breathe more easily – even with the smoke in the air. This close, she could see the damage to the tower heart. It was cracked, and entire chipped splinters were missing from it. The light from it appeared, strangely, to be the same light that enveloped the gauntlet, somehow changing colour when it moved between the two. Which wasn't how light worked. She took another step forward, and the glow of red light around the gauntlet washed over her face.

The entire thing thrummed, with a noise which she could only describe as 'whooooooom'.

And she realised that the noise was pulsing. It was pulsing at the same speed as her own heartbeat. That realisation led the pair of them to speed up.

She just had to put the gauntlet on, right? It was for the left hand, and looked rather too large for her.

What if it rejected her? What if she wasn't a proper Overlady, just like she hadn't been a proper mage? What if she was just going to fail again here, another failure in a long life of failures? Louise the Zero, Louise the Useless, Louise the Pathetic.

"Hurry up," Gnarl called out. "They'll be serving dinner upstairs soon enough!"

The girl took a deep breath, and then without exhaling took a second deeper one. Screwing her eyes shut, she thrust her left hand into the red light.

Coolness washed over her left hand, and she opened her eyes, letting her breath out in an explosive burst. She had just meant to grab it, but the gauntlet had somehow folded itself around her hand and resized as it did it. Now her left hand was covered in steel, all the way up to the elbow. The armour was decidedly more... feminine than it had been before, too. It was still a plate gauntlet, but the fingers were less fat and the claw-like fingers almost seemed to have nails.

Louise de la Vallière flexed her hand. It barely felt like she was wearing anything on the arm, and yet when she made a fist she heard her metal fingers click against her armoured palm. She felt the same fundamental _rightness _about this armour as she had when she had first cast the fire spell, and she slowly raised her hand.

A deep bellow sounded out, like a horn from the depths, only the sound emanated from her hand. All around the room, minions ceased with their looting, pillaging, and trying on desecrated bodies as hats, and flocked to her. The strange gem-like thing on the back of the armour flared green, and the runes branding the minions burned brighter for a moment, making the creatures flinch in pain, before the light died down to the same yellow-pink as her eyes.

"Mistress," Gnarl said approvingly, "and I can rightfully call you that now, may I be the first to congratulate you on recovering the gauntlet. It is perhaps the truest emblem of your office, and rather suits you. Now! Now the Evil deeds can _really_ begin."

* * *

…


	5. The Same Thing We Do Every Night

_"Rule one of demonology; never let an uppity git think that just because he has a pair of horns and a pitchfork, he can boss you around. You know what else has horns? Sheep!"_

– Gnarl

* * *

...

* * *

"Well," Louise said clearly and trying her hardest not to stammer, leaning on her staff while she kept the ball of fire in clear sight, "there are two things you can do. There is the easy way, and the also pretty easy way. Uh, but the second one has more burning."

She paused, and consulted the note she'd her to the sleeve, trying to ignore the cheeping of birds. It was not really an appropriate backdrop for what she was doing. Even if she was doing it in a swamp which was _disgusting _and there were probably _frogs _around – Founder, she hated frogs so much – and she really, really wanted a bath and... focus, focus, focus.

"You can give up, and obey me. Or I can throw this fireball at you and then my minions will bludgeon you lot unconscious and you'll be taken back to my… um… tower."

Behind her, the collection of her minions, mostly armoured in rusted iron or bits of re-dead undead leered, made threatening gestures, made rude gestures, or carried out some combination of the aforementioned. And standing on the other side of the clearing, the ragtag tribe of goblins made similar gestures back.

Now that she had spent some time around minions, she could see how the goblins were different. They were... well, patchwork was the best word to describe it. They looked a bit like scrawnier, more feeble browns, but their skins varied from a dark yellow to a mucky green, their eyes were duller, and there was a small cluster towards the back who had curled horns like reds. They did rather look just like the pictures of goblins she had seen in various bestiaries back at the Academy, which made it easier. The largest of the goblins stepped forwards, and yattered something in some crude tongue.

Maggat, standing behind Louise cleared his throat. "Ahem," he said. "Goblin chief, he say that scary-eye-lady not scare him now or in future. She have the scary eyes of slave-making, but she not wear armour. He say he kill her and take her shiny hand." Maggat paused. "He say other things, but most of it swearing or saying rude things about us minions," he added.

"Oh." Louise sucked on her lower lip. The chief goblin was larger than the others, and had better armour – it looked like it might have once belonged to a royal roadwarden. That was confirmed by the dried-looking human head hanging from his belt, which in its own way made everything easier.

"_My lady, stick to the plan_," Gnarl said, his voice echoing in her head.

She nodded. "In th-that case, I challenge their leader to... to a duel!" she announced, clenching her armoured hand into a fist. "If I win, all his followers will serve me!"

There was muttering from the goblins, and a single barked word from the chieftain, who drew a 'sword' which appeared to be a stolen butcher's cleaver.

"Deal," Maggat translated unnecessarily.

Louise swallowed. "Has he killed many other humans before?" she asked her henchminion, idly bringing her left hand up so the fireball held within lit her face from below.

There was another chatter of goblin language. "Oh yes," Maggat translated. "He say that he kill many two of two of human. He say he going to kill you and use you for..." the brown minion trailed off. The reason he trailed off was because Louise had just exhaled onto the fireball, sending a tongue of pink fire roiling and boiling forth.

It consumed the chieftain, who briefly screamed and was cut off. As the thick white smoke parted, the charred bones of the leader and the red-hot remnants of the metal he had been carrying revealed themselves.

"Any other of you goblin snot-heads want to fight Overlady?" Maggat announced proudly.

The general consensus was 'No', and those goblins stupid even by the low standards of the minions were quickly clubbed unconscious by extremely prejudiced violence. Another set of goblins had been acquired from the trackless swamplands, and the long and unpleasant trek back to the tower to have them sworn to her. And at least she had come up with the bright idea to be carried on a palanquin so she didn't have to get her feet wet.

* * *

…

* * *

Louise was in a vile mood when she got back.

"Have them flogged! Extra!" she snapped at the guards at the now-cleared entrance to the tower. "I mean it! I w-want to see them all suffer for that!" Sulking, she stomped her way up to her new bedroom. She had managed to find a place on the partially ruined second storey where someone had installed shutters – which looked like they had been torn from a peasant house at some point – and so got natural light. It was much improved from the squalid place she had started in. Albeit only in the sense that a barn was improved over a burnt-out shell – she was still living in a ruin.

It said something of how she had been forced to lower her standards that she now looked forwards to the hip bath the minions had salvaged from that room full of animated severed hands. Which had all possessed immaculately manicured nails. That had been very strange.

Louise filled the bath with rainwater from the barrel in the room, and then held a fireball underwater until it was hot. She stripped off her stinking swamp-soaked clothing and tossed it away, where it splattered. That was _another _dress ruined, and for the last few months she had been living in clothes found in this place. Ones in her size were not exactly common, and that was before the moral issues which came from the fact that they had probably come from the victims of the vampires, or the aesthetic issue that most of them were made for commoners and were not up to her standards.

Minion attempts at laundry had... not gone well.

She screamed in rage, which made her feel slightly better. One of the captured goblins had tried to escape, and she had been knocked off her palanquin into the swamp. She was _drenched_ and _smelly_, and… she screamed again. The only thing which had not been utterly soaked was the gauntlet, which she kept on. It felt nice to wear, and... honestly, now that she had it, she felt naked without it. More naked, that was. With a sigh, she sunk into her hot bath, clicking metal fingers against the side.

And then those _disgusting _little goblins had made fun of her tower when they had arrived. And said things like 'Me see no tower' and 'Overlady tower flat as chest', at least according to Maggat's translations.

Oh, they were going to be flogged to within a centimetre of death, if she had any say in the matter. She sank deeper into her cramped bath, blowing dark bubbles of wrathful vengeance.

Though she hated to admit it, that was probably one advantage of being... er, less advanced in the height department. She could actually, if she huddled up enough, manage to just about sink her head down low enough to get it underwater, and try her best to rid herself of the smell of swamp before it joined the normal smell of dank tower.

Opening her eyes underwater, she stared up at the ceiling. When she got back to civilisation, she would never complain about little things like servants being late bringing towels again. God. How she missed life's little necessities like that. Or lemon-scented soap. Or... well, soap that wasn't made, like so much of the products of minion manufacture, from mushrooms and rats. She had eaten far, far too much mushroom and rat in the last few months. Eating rats. Eurgh.

Well, okay, maybe the _rat au vin _wasn't too bad.

She realised that a pair of beady eyes was staring down at her, and sat upright with a splash.

"Ah, your evilness. I see you are in a particularly cruel and vindictive mood today! Excellent," said Gnarl, straightening up from where he had been peering down at her. The old minion was showing his normal capacity to be impressed by her tempers as long as they were suitably extravagant, which... well, honestly, when she had calmed down Louise felt slightly shamed by that approval. "I shall have to see if we can obtain a torture chamber for you for such moments, although, of course, that will be dependent upon an improvement in your financial circumstance.

Louise shrieked, and huddled into a ball, trying to cover herself. "Wh-what are you doing in here?" she blurted out at her senior advisor, while the jester – who sadly had survived everything she had directed at it – capered around behind him. Her cheeks flushed bright red with embarrassment.

"I came to speak to you, my…"

"I'm having a b-bath! Get out!"

She was sure Gnarl was leering. "But your evilness, previous overladies took great delight in taking briefings while in a less dressed state. Or sometimes dressed only in blood and the guts of their foes, or many other often imaginative permutations, or…"

"Then they are indecent h-hussies who were no better than they should have been! And…"

"The Exhibitionist!" contributed the jester, who was rewarded for his wit by an explosion to the face. The minion slammed head-first into the wall, and lay there, twitching, but Louise paid him no attention. She… she had just… just used the gauntlet as a wand.

Huh. That meant that… huh. That was, really, really…

Louise's native language did not actually use the word 'cool' to describe things unrelated to the thermal state of an object. But nevertheless, she thought "cool". It was a hot, squirming little thought, and the gleam in her eyes spoke of explosions in the future. She had thought it had been the staff, but if the gauntlet supported it too… no, it was probably best to keep the length of heavy iron for when things didn't require large explosions or fatal burnings.

And when she thought about it, it did make sense. After all, there were wand-swords and staff-glaives and other weapons, and the gauntlet was a powerful magical item made to be used by a mage, right?

Her chain of thought was interrupted by the realisation that the jester looked like he was getting up. So she blew him up again. "You mentioned torture chambers, Gnarl?" she said sweetly, keeping her legs huddled up and her right arm protectively in front of her.

"Indeed I did, my lady, but that was not why I came here. No," said the elderly minion, "I came to report that we have finished counting the plunderings from the goblin camp, and that the beasts themselves have now been processed and are _proper _minions, as they were always meant to be."

"That's nice," Louise said, bluntly, "but I'm having a bath. You can't just walk in h-here! I'll… I'll talk to you when I find new clothes and… and get dressed and…"

"It is on the topic of clothes that I wished to speak," Gnarl said, stroking his goatee. "My lady, as it stands your garb is not appropriate for one of your standing. Quite frankly, you can't be an Overlady in old worn dresses like this! And with the wealth acquired from the most recent minion raid, we can finally afford something better quality and more fitting for your station." The old minion pursed his lips. "I will meet you down in the tower heart room when you are ready for a journey, my lady."

Gnarl shuffled out of the room, pausing to drag the jester out by its ear. Louise sunk back down into her bath, still blushing. She would need to find a way to bar the door. She wasn't sure if minions were male or female under the loincloth, but Gnarl at least _sounded _male, and that was bad enough!

* * *

…

* * *

The tower heart room had been cleared of the corpses littering it and the blood on the floor had dried, but it was still lacking in things that would prevent one from taking a perilous fall over the side. Louise tried her best not to look down as she made her way over to where Gnarl was waiting, by the heart itself.

She was still not best inclined towards him for intruding on her bath like that, but now that she was washed, dried, no longer smelt of swamp, and had a fresh mostly-fitting dress on, things were better. The black gown-like garment still had to be belted in at the waist, but at least it did not assume that she was built like Kirche von Zerbst up top, and she had added breeches under it because the fact it was slit to the mid-thigh meant her legs were getting cold.

"Mmm, my lady. Yes, of the goblin tribe, nine of them became browns when processed, seven greens, four reds, and one single blue," Gnarl said, as if nothing was wrong, "which is a useful thing indeed. This brings your combined number of minions back over one hundred and thirty, after the losses which were taken claiming the tower heart." Louise nodded in approval. "Should you wish to check our reserves of life energy, you can do so," Gnarl added, "but without a minion hive we cannot use it. We should look towards acquiring one, and in the meantime, among certain clients we can use it in payment."

"I see," said Louise, who didn't, really. She intellectually knew that the glowing life force which she could see when she was wearing the gauntlet was the thing that they could make new minions from, but she wasn't really sure that she should be trading it to anyone.

"This is relevant, because on the topic of obtaining a proper mode of dress for you," Gnarl said, rubbing his hands together, "there's an old friend of mine who from what I have been able to gather lives in your capital city nowadays."

Louise raised her eyebrows. Gnarl was, not to put things bluntly, a malevolent goblin-thing who had been stuck in a cage for decades. "A friend of yours lives in Bruxelles?" she asked, sceptically.

"Oh, is that what the place is called nowadays?" he asked. "Yes, that's what I have managed to pick up. I would beckon him here directly, but… well, you know how the tower heart is damaged, your evilness. You will have to travel there most of the way yourself; it doesn't have the power to properly reach more than twenty miles or so. And so…"

The girl frowned. "What's a mile?"

Gnarl blinked. "… my lady?" he asked, momentarily and unusually lost for words.

"A mile. What is that? Is it an old-fashioned word for metre?"

"What's a metre?"

They stared at each other, caught in momentary dimensional uncertainty.

"Is it a large distance?" Louise asked.

"A mile is… a mile," Gnarl said helplessly.

She shifted her shoulders, and stood up. Well, I'm a bit over a metre and a half tall," she said, helplessly.

Beady eyes scrutinised her. "Well. Fine, it seems your 'metre' is about a yard. Probably named after some self-righteous Hero type who decided to name the unit of measurement after himself rather than a good old fashioned yard. And a mile is one thousand, seven hundred and sixty yards."

Louise stared at him. "You're joking," she said, flatly. "That's _stupid_. Why in God's name would you have such a _stupid _number?"

"Ah, it has great occult and mystical…"

"_Stupid_. There are one thousand metres in a kilometre. Things are easy, simple, and don't require me to memorise stupid numbers." She folded her arms. "That is final!"

"… yes, my lady," muttered Gnarl, a hunt of sullenness in his voice. "But your evilness, the tower heart works in miles, because it is a bad old traditional device, not using your silly modern measurements. It will not understand your 'kilometres'."

"Then we shall deal with it when we have worked out a way to handle such an annoyance," Louise said imperiously, squaring her jaw.

"Your evilness, I am pleased to see you are working on your royal we," Gnarl said, "even if you are wasting it on such a silly topic."

The girl blinked. "Oh, no, I meant that you were going to help me do it."

"As you wish, your evilness," Gnarl said, in an impeccable manner, before turning the conversation back on topic. "My… acquaintance is of the demonic persuasion, but fear not for your virtue, because he is retired from the incubus business. His name came up as someone who knows how to find people who can provide services for specialist clients."

Louise pursed her lips. This was the first major moral challenge for her. Killing or enslaving goblins was… well, actually it actually was a good act in the eyes of God; there had been a papal declaration of that and everything. Consorting with demons – and in the case of incubi, it was literal consorting – was about as far away from good as one could get. "Retired?" she echoed.

"Oh yes, according to word on the Evil street," Gnarl said confidently. "And, your ladyship, when he was working he would not have been interested in you."

There had to be a logical reason for Gnarl saying that, Louise thought, and therefore there was probably a good reason she should not explode at him. Yet. "And why was that?" she hissed.

"Excellent hiss, your evilness," Gnarl remarked. "Well, the reason he would not have considered you among his clientèle is that you are female."

She blinked. "I thought you said he was an incubus."

"Oh yes."

Right. She wasn't going to think about that. "And he'll know where to get things?" she said, skittering away from that particularly conversational topic.

Gnarl nodded, the light hanging behind him bobbing up and down. "Yes, my lady. He'll either be able to provide the equipment himself, or he'll know who can. In addition, his name came up so often that I think he has even wider contacts than he must have had in the old days; that means that he might know things like where some of the treasures from the tower went, or where the missing chips from the tower heart are. And that," and a tone of menace entered Gnarl's voice, "is why it will be a good idea to keep on good terms with him."

Louise nodded. All right. Yes. She wasn't consorting with an incubus. She was just… going to see an information source. And it was okay to deal with evil information brokers; just look at Gnarl. "I understand," she said. "So I… can go by the tower heart?"

"Indeed. Lickit!" Gnarl called out, prompting a minion to scurry forwards carrying a mass of black fabric in his hands.

"For the master!" the minion announced proudly.

Gnarl cuffed him over the back of the head. "Mistress, Lickit," he sighed. "Yes, the proper garb for an Overlady going concealed among the disgusting lands of Good and fluffiness and bunnies and the like," he said.

Louise shook the garment out, revealing it to be a long, tailored and – shockingly – clean black robe. It looked warm and comfortable and like it would actually fit her. "Where did you get this?" she demanded accusingly.

Gnarl shrugged. "We found another bride," he said. "She happened to be your size."

"Blood come out in washing!" Lickit added, helpfully.

The pink-haired girl shuddered, and put it on. It was just as warm and comfortable as it had looked; a long hooded robe which reached down to her ankles, which was slightly too long in the sleeves but which she thought that even her limited sewing skills could extend to fixing.

"I will help you with the negotiations," Gnarl said, "but I will stay here. I'm old and don't like travelling, and also I don't think the little darlings should be left alone, especially when we're still assimilating a sizeable goblin contingent."

That was probably a good idea, Louise agreed.

"Now, as for how you use the tower heart? Well, you have read the theory, yes. It's not really necessary, but it helps. Simply put your hand on the tower heart, think of the right place from the visions it shows you, and step through it," Gnarl said.

The girl frowned. Surely it couldn't be that easy to carry out an act of magic which even the mightiest square mages could barely manage for short distances.

* * *

…

* * *

It was late afternoon when Louise stepped into the surface of the tower heart, and out – and through it – to an old ring of stones which lay, half-fallen, on a grassy hilltop.

Apparently it was that easy.

"_Is this thing on? Ah, good, can you hear me? I can hear you. I was worried that the damage to the heart might have ruined its long range capacities,_" said Gnarl, his voice echoing through into her mind. "_Evil news! It means you will be able to return to the tower by this tower gate! If you can find the other fragments, we will be able to increase the range. Likewise, if you can find any of the other towers or the relays, you will be able to use them to transport directly between them. And…_"

"I can hear you," Louise said, just so she could confirm. There was a puddle on the ground nearby, and she leaned over it, checking her face. Carefully focussing, she dampened the light in her eyes until they were no longer glowing. Her irises still seemed to be a yellow-pink, however, and she wasn't sure if she could do anything about that. This little spell she had learned to hide the light was only a minor bit of magic, and according to the book it failed if she felt strong emotions, so maybe there was a better one out there, somewhere.

"_Malevolent! This tower gate used to overlook a road which led south… it is still there?_"

The girl looked around. The lush green landscape of grasses and free-roaming ponies was quite in contrast to both the swamp around the tower and the stormy conditions she had ridden here in, but she thought she recognised the place.

In fact, yes, she did. This was the old circle of standing stones she had noticed on the way up here, the one by the burnt tree which had been hit by lightning at some point. Which meant that, yes, down there was the road, and she could follow it south to… yes, there was a village perhaps eight kilometres away, which would be a fair walk, but there had been both an inn there and a hostelry, which meant that she could buy a horse and ride to Bruxelles.

She shot a glance at the wild ponies. Someone unused to riding would have tried to ride one of them, and then been thrown off and trampled on for their pains. And they would have been rather sizeable pains, too. No, wild ponies were best left alone, she thought, leaning on her staff, and wondered where her mare had got to.

Something butted her from behind. She turned and stared at the equine beast, which apparently had not heard her chain of thoughts about 'leaving them alone'. "Shoo!" she ordered. "I don't have any apples for you." She paused. "Oh, Founder, I would so love an apple right now," she added. "Or any kind of fruit. Or vegetable that isn't a mushroom or moss or lichen or… they'll have food at the inn. And I have no idea why I'm telling this to you, horse."

The pony retaliated by biting down on her sleeve. She managed to twist her arm out of the way – she was used to the cunning ways of such beasts – but it still managed to lock onto her sleeve. And refused to let go, no matter how much she shouted at it.

So Louise punched it in the face with her armoured fist.

As one, the other ponies turned to face her.

"Nice ponies?" Louise tried.

The beasts disagreed.

The barmaid at the Fat Pig, the inn in the village of Radys was listening to the complaints of one of the pony-herders with half an ear as she polished mugs.

"An' then, no sooner did I get there than there was all this 'orrible white smoke everywhere an' moi 'erd was on fire! 'Ain't natural, I tells you; wildfires aren't things we should be getting in spring. I'm blamin' that ol' stone circle there; everyone knows it's bad luck. Or goblings bein' paid by the elves to do stuff. I lost one o' moi smallest 'erds there, an' I'm gonna be 'ard pressed when it comes to the slaughter season," Ol' Phil slurred, his accent lurching wildly between the regions of northern Tristain in his distress. "Where'm I's gonna be getting moi milk and wool from if not from moi horses?"

The barmaid stopped listening to the old drunk when the door opened, and a dark robed, hooded figure swept in. The stranger's face was cast entirely in shadow in the dim lighting of the bar, and in their left hand they had a staff of black iron. For a moment, she thought she could see a strange glow from underneath the hood, but it must have just been a trick of the light. Possibly a candle reflected off a pewter mug.

It would have been rather more sinister if the figure hadn't been quite so short.

"Barmaid," the figure rasped, as it made its way over to the bar, and then paused, and coughed. "Wretched smoke," it muttered to itself. "Barmaid," it tried again, revealing it to be a fairly young woman. "I require a room for the night, as well as food."

"Ah… uh, yes," the barmaid said, momentarily perplexed. "That'll be two deniers."

"Wait a moment," the stranger said, raising her right hand and shifting slightly to turn her back on the barmaid. "Just need to…" she fiddled with what looked like her left sleeve, "… not quite practised with this, when is it going to w… aha!" She turned back around, two silver deniers in hand. "I have it," she said.

From her accent and tone of voice, and the strange way she pronounced words like ''ave' and 'goin'', the barmaid could tell that the stranger was noble-born and educated, and so she prepared to be nice to her. "Thank'ee, my lady," she said. "I'll get the boy to show you to your room."

The stranger coughed. "And what are you serving this evening?" she asked.

"Uh…" the barmaid squinted in recollection, "… that'd be a stew of salted pork an'… you know, turnips an' carrots an' cabbage an' the like. It's hardly a noble dish, but we don't have many nobles stoppin' by here or nothing."

"There's no mushroom in it, is there?" the girl asked. "Or… uh, rat?"

"Rat? God, no," the brown-haired woman said, sounding shocked. "I'll have you know moi husband runs an 'igh class place 'ere. An'… nah, no mushroom neither, I don't think."

"Wonderful," Louise breathed.

* * *

…

* * *

In the morning, Louise moved on, now mounted on a newly purchased horse, heading along the road which would lead her to Bruxelles.

The next evening, there was a fracas at the front gate of the inn. Ol' Phil was very badly beaten, though he swore blind that he had never seen his attacker and that they – whoever they had been – had attacked from behind. And also taken his money, his beard, his belt, his knife, and his collection of lucky horse shoes which protected him from elves.

And while people were distracted, all the chickens were stolen from the henhouses, which were also smashed into firewood and set on fire. The locals blamed goblins, and sent out an advertisement looking for a Hero to save them. It had worked when they had that infestation of giant rats in the basement, hadn't it?

* * *

…


	6. Part 2-2

_"If there's one place you can rely on be a site for an Evil ritual, it's a capital city. They're even more trustworthy than blood-soaked altars out in the woods, because it's much easier to find a city than it is to find the specific blood-soaked altar the prophecy written by some gibbering illiterate refers to."_

– Gnarl

* * *

…

* * *

The hoofbeats of the black horse clattered against the smooth stone of the road. Slung over the back of the horse was a staff of black iron. It was early summer but still the rider swathed in a midnight-black robe kept their hood up. The morning mists fled from the lone figure, and ravens flocked in her wake.

Louise shivered slightly. It was chill this early in the morning, and the clear skies just meant that it had been even colder at night. With a disgusted expression, she shot an annoyed stare back at the birds which followed her. The dratted things were after her breakfast, and had been following her while she tried to eat it.

Well, she wasn't going to let them have it! The girl chuckled to herself, and paused for a moment when she realised that she was giggling somewhat madly over the fact that she was not giving birds her breakfast. Maybe she had gone a little crazy from three months with the only intelligent being around she could talk to being Gnarl. She didn't count the minions as intelligent conversation, because, well... they weren't. It probably wasn't normal to be quite so triumphant about it.

But it was bread, which did not involve mushrooms or moss in any way! And she had bacon, made from pigs as opposed to rats! And there was butter and she had _no idea _where the butter in the tower came from, but the choices were either bats or rats and neither was palatable. Or, come to think of it, explicable. How did you get enough milk from a rodent to make those cheeses the minions seemed to love?

"You can't have it, birds," she whispered, as she made her way through the things she had carefully made for herself and wrapped in waxed paper when she had woken up.

By the time she had finished, the capital city of Tristain was just about coming into view. From this slightly elevated position, the slums and townships of the settlements built outside the walls, sprawling and enveloping the city on the plains of Tristain. The poverty could be seen, for they were built in wood and brick. Indeed, to the north of the city, a thicker black pall rising to the heavens marked a fire. They clustered around the grey and solemn outer walls of the city, and the River Senne like children around a mother's skirts, and yet were not permitted access.

Within the walls, building standards were at least somewhat maintained, and though the tenements and houses would often rise perilously to three, even four or more stories, the tallest ones were built by proper earth mages, in stone, and so stood as islands of wealth and taste within a sea of commoner constructions. This was the city of Bruxlles proper, the capital of Tristain, but compared to the city within the inner walls, where the true nobility and the wealthiest of the merchants had their holdings, its commoner-borne poverty showed through.

The inner walls were notably taller and better maintained than the outer ones, and sheathed in marble, rather than grey stone. They were freshly cleaned and maintained, and stood in stark contrast to the other, lesser walls. Several former kings and queens had spent a lot of time, and money rebuilding the oldest city into a place of wide boulevards and marble. The cathedrals and churches and palaces were seamless constructs, earth mages raising them from the ground and building them without mortar, giving them a strength and beauty than no commoner-built structure could have had. White stone was capped with spires and domes of polished marble and bluestone, and gardens sprawled in the heights. From this distance, one could even see the enchantments carry the smoke away from the inner city. The palace dwelt in the precise centre, and stood almost as a city to itself, another set of fortified walls rising even higher than the ones of the inner city. Those walls were trimmed with gold ornamentation, and shone in the sunlight.

"_My eyes,_" Gnarl muttered, his voice echoing in Louise's head. "_It has got even more tasteless and disgustingly Good since the last time I saw it, and that is saying rather a lot. It makes me want to vomit. In fact, I think I will go throw up until I feel better about having seen that horrible sight._"

There was a clatter and a scraping, and distant coughing, before Gnarl returned. "_That city makes me quite nauseous,_" the elderly minion said. "_And the hypocrisy of Good is quite obvious. Look at how only the rich get the terribly shiny things, while the poor live in admirable filth and squalor! Sometimes, Good can work out ways to oppress and control and subjugate and humiliate which previous Overlords have never dreamed of. And the way the wealth is all in the hands of a few means that looting and plundering is far easier! Like that palace!_"

Louise paled. "I'm not going to loot Princess Henrietta's palace!" she hissed into her gauntlet. "Not a chance! She's one of my oldest friends." Actually she was basically the only person Louise knew who she could even remotely call a friend in the first place, but she was not about to admit that to Gnarl.

"_Are you sure? If the treasure vaults are anything like the ones I remember, they are both very large and very full. If they haven't spent all the gold on decorating the walls of the palace, that is. And they may well have some of the tower's artefacts in there. But if you're going to be careful about political matters and keep the crown on side... well, I'm sure that there must be unpopular and wealthy nobles who your princess would like to see taken down a few pegs._"

Well, the artefacts were hers by right, and some nobles were suspected of... no! She shouldn't even be tempted! "This topic is not a matter of discussion!" Louise snapped. "And nobles are the rightful rulers and so entitled to wealth! You say I'm an overlady... well, that just means I'm another kind of noble! Nothing changes!" She flapped the reins at her horse, which had taken the chance to pause and crop at a bush, and continued onwards.

* * *

...

* * *

Some way behind the nascent overlady was a cluster of five small children. They were certainly children, because they were dressed as children. Moreover, the fact that they would periodically go and kick over flowers, or steal chickens, or smash things just for the enjoyment of the noise they made, or occasionally jump travellers, beat them senseless, and take anything of value they were carrying merely confirmed in the eyes of anyone who saw them that they were about six years old.

The people of Tristain were well aware that children were pure and innocent. However, what they were pure of, and innocent from were rather more variable. Sometimes, like with this band of hellions, it was 'respect for property' and 'basic human kindness".

However, shockingly, these were not in fact children, but were in fact minions serving a force of terrible darkness. Hence, their lack of basic human kindness might have been viewed as part of their nature, and their disregard for property laws part of their job description.

Maggat adjusted his bonnet, and glared at his companions. "We not need more cluckies," he said. "We have lots of cluckies already."

"What we do now?" Igni asked, scratching his horns. The red minion smelt strongly of various alchemical reagents, and even more strongly of explosions. "We no can put cluckies back. Cluckie house on fire."

"It on fire because you set it on fire," Maximilian – who owed his name to a former Overlord who felt that naming minions personally encouraged loyalty – said. His floppy hat squirmed and fought as if there was a chicken underneath it, which coincidentally happened to be the case. With a look of concentration, the brown minion punched himself in the hat, and grinned when the fighting stopped.

Maggat folded his arms. "We wait for Scyl to go recover Fettid from pond where he chase duckie into," he said, with an annoyed glance over at where a drenched blue wearing a wimple was dragging a dead green out of the water. "Then we move on and you can burn cluckies, Igni, so we have hot meal. Then we go after Overlady. I have plan and that means we follow it, because it not right for Overlady to go off alone without loyal minions to loot things for her."

Maximilian grinned. "We helping, right."

"Yep!" Maggat agreed, idly watching as the blue bought the green back to life. "Well, that about all we need to do."

Igni raised a hand. "Can I's burn the house down?"

Maggat shook his head. "No. We is being sneaky-like here. Now, sneaky-like, we will sneak off like we is all greens. And maybe this time Fettid not drown."

"Not my fault," the soaked green managed, as they set off. "Duckie ran away and I ride it into water."

"Water is tricksy and cunning," Maximilian agreed. "We has to be careful about it. You know how my poem goes. 'There once was a sneaky lake/ Whose endless hunger could not slake / So it..."

"And no poetry. At all," ordered Maggat, hefting his rusty blade with a threatening look.

* * *

...

* * *

This... was not an area of Bruxelles she had ever been to before, Louise observed. Built up against the shores of the River Senne, this district was lower-middle income despite its proximity to the inner city. Maybe the sight of the shining walls lowered the price of housing here, because commoners didn't like having their faces rubbed in how they were inferior to the wealthy, she didn't know. She just followed Gnarl's somewhat vague instructions until she got sick of being lost, badgered him for the name of the place and asked for directions.

That had upset the elderly goblin for some reason. Apparently an overlady should not ask for directions, and the previous overlord would never have thought of doing that. Louise had suggested that the reason for that was that he was an overlord – ie, male – and Gnarl had gone quiet. Which was a blessing in itself.

And so she had found her way to the Charming Fairies Inn. The large, greystone building was slightly larger than the surrounding structures, and looked fairly prosperous and well-attired for a place of commerce and trade like this. Louise noted the roses growing by the entrance, and the hired guards, and mentally made an approving note. At least it was not some scummy waterside dive, which was what novels told her such mysterious contacts often dwelt. Raising her hood again, she entered.

The buzz of voices welcomed her in, along with a faint smell of wine and beer. Well, it was an inn, and that was to be expected. Someone jostled her aside as she waited in the entrance, and she went to shout at them before remembering she was meant to be here in disguise.

"_Try to find a member of the serving staff you can talk to,_" Gnarl suggested.

"I know that!" Louise hissed under her breath. "What, do you think I've never done this kind of thing before?" And indeed, there was a slight gated off cubicle in a niche in the wall, just before the door which led to the main room. Through there, she could see women – rather underdressed women, she thought disapprovingly – serving drinks to the clientèle. Wait, no, there was an underdressed man. And... no, she had to focus.

The woman behind the counter was... decidedly female. And would have been described that way in any language one cared to mention, including Braille. Especially Braille. And any description of her in sign language would have involved cupping motions, and possibly the gesture for 'those things are trying to escape from her dress'. Louise raised her eyes to eye-level, tried not to feel jealous, and managed to blurt out, "I w-was sent here by a... by Gnarl."

"Gnarl," the woman said with an interestingly bouncy shrugging motion and a pronounced Gallian accent, looking down at a book in front of her. "Ah, yes, I have a scheduled reservation for a party of one for that name, under the name of Psueda Name. Is that correct?"

The girl nodded.

The woman unfastened the gate in front of her, leading Louise to a door behind her. "Take the steps down, Mademoiselle Name, and please, find a place to be seated," she said.

The stairs wound down underground. From the sense of height she had acquired from three months inside her ruined tower, Louise was fairly sure that she was going deeper than the basement of the building. She frowned at that, because this place was built beside the river; clearly they couldn't be doing too badly if they could afford the mages to waterproof the structure. The light down deeper was redder, and there was perfumed smoke hanging in the air.

And as she walked down a wood-lined corridor, she boggled at the sight of the – well, she been wrong in calling the serving staff upstairs scantily clad. They were not. Not compared to these ones. Louise de la Vallière felt her cheeks begin to blush, as the two men nodded her into the main underground room.

"Gnarl," Louise hissed into her gauntlet, "have you brought me to... to a place of... of ill-repute?"

"_Oh no. No, no, no,_" he protested.

"Really? Because..."

"_I am certain that people will speak very highly of it._"

Louise pursed her lips. That was not what she wanted to hear. Young ladies like herself should not even know that this kind of place existed – though of course they did – and they certainly should not be in such a place. It was just as bad to be in one with a chaperone as it was to be in one without! It was barely better for her to be in here as technically-a-patron than it was for her to be in here as... as an employee!

She pulled her hood up. At the very least, she could manage to not be seen in this place. Louise looked around, and settled for one of the tables in the corner. Something which – God's will – would mean she would not attract the attention of one of the serving staff in _that _sense, because she very much did not want that. She settled down, making sure her back was against the wall, and rested her hands on her lap so she would not accidentally expose her metal-encased left hand to questions. Idly, her hand stroked the gem on it as she waited.

"Psst!" someone hissed at her, breaking her from her reverie. She jerked upright, and looked around wildly; a motion which was lost entirely by her long hood.

In front of her was a small group. The bright-blue-haired lead was clearly a noble, wand-sword slung at his belt, a breastplate evident under his mantle. However, he seemed to keep mixed company. There was a shifty looking woman at his side, with dirty-blonde hair and a musket slung over her back, and beside her was another woman dressed in a nun's habit – trimmed with the marks of a healer – holding a plain staff. Finally, there was a roughly dressed man with... Louise boggled... two things which looked like the offspring of a sword and a butcher's cleaver at his belt, his face a mess of scars. All of them were looking at her with expectant faces.

"What is it?" she said, warily.

The man looked around carefully. "The knightly owl hoots in the darkness only when it wishes to be heard," he hissed. "Else it jousts at cowardly mice."

Louise sighed. Who was this madman? "Begone, stranger; I am not waiting for you," she said imperiously. "Who cares what the owl does?"

The man did not go, but instead nodded. "Good," he said. "I come bringing ill-tidings. The Council takes more power for itself, and the Sevenfold Brotherhood finds it cannot stop the tides of change. Madame de Montespan is closing in on our commands, and we fear that she will use her influence to seize our holdings, despite the fact that we do not think she has concrete proof to what our branch in Amstelredamme has been doing. Water's Genesis is not safe from her prying eyes. We came as soon as we received your word that you had a new quest for us."

"I'm sorry, what?" the girl said, by now thoroughly confused. "Who even are you, and why did you not go away when I told you to go?"

The man blinked, and exchanged confused looks with his companions. "You gave the counterword," he said, slowly.

"What counterword?"

The woman with the musket groaned. "I told you that bloody phrase was too close to something someone could say normally," she hissed at her companion. "This is the Charming Fairies Inn, for Founder's sake; it's not like mysterious hooded..."

A black-robed and hooded figure rose, poking their head over the divide from the next seats. "What are you idiots doing?" it hissed. "Get over here!"

The noble shuffled uncomfortably. "Sorry, sorry, mistaken identity," he said, awkwardly. "Can you please forget what I said, please?"

The group left her field of vision, and Louise boggled. That had been... very strange. Maybe she needed a drink, to calm her nerves. No, that was a bad idea. She would have to take her hood down to catch the eyes of the serving staff, and she did not want them to misunderstand her intentions and...

Someone cleared their throat to her right. It turned out to be a woman, dressed all in black, with dark eyes which cut a sharp contrast to her pale skin. Her hair was shaved to a close-stubble; little clinking noises as she moved indicated the presence of hidden pieces of sharp metal on her person. She took a chair without asking, and leaned towards Louise, her arms propped on the table. "Dark master," she said, "the bishop of Nantes is dead. Command what you will of me, oh burning-eyed one."

"What?"

The pale-skinned woman blushed. "Sorry, sorry," she said hastily, "I was meant to be meeting a man. Um... I didn't realise you were female under that hood," She pulled herself to her feet and leapt away with a hint of an acrobat's grace, flicking a denier onto the table. "Get yourself a drink for the inconvenience," the shaven-headed woman said, disappearing back into the crowd.

... yes. She needed a drink, and drat the consequences. Wait. Burning... were her eyes glowing? Drat, drat, drat. And she couldn't use that minor magic until she calmed down, so... Louise looked left and right, and covered her eyes with her right hand, breathing deeply. She shouldn't think about how she was in a house of ill-repute, or how she kept on being approached by strangers – which she hated – or that...

"Ah, mademoiselle," a voice said, addressing her for the third time in about as many minutes. With a sigh, Louise peeked through her fingers, and then gasped at shock at the sight before her glowing eyes.

The man was… well, he was. He _was_. He existed, despite the immediate confines and constraints of such things as 'common sense' and 'human decency'. His broad shoulders, narrow waist with clearly evident sixpack, and bulging biceps would have been attractive on another; in many ways he was built like those pictures of ancient Romalian heroes which Louise had certain fond memories of. But there was a subtle cast to his face which disquieted the girl, though she could not pin it down – something which left her feeling chilled.

And his garb! Ay, his garb! It was positively indecent! It could hardly be much worse if he was entirely naked, in her opinion. His breeches were far, far too short, and he was unquestionably male; Louise really hoped that there was a codpiece down there, because that… that thing which kept on drawing her gaze made her want to cross her legs and wince. He wore a sleeveless jacket cut to expose his midriff, which somehow was worse than if he had merely been shirtless. And… yes, Louise thought, looking down – her eyes protectively skipping over the… the bulge – he was wearing clogs appropriate for a woman.

Oh, and he was wearing rouge, eyeliner, and lip-paint and his moustache had been waxed and trimmed elaborately, but even that normality – it was the height of male fashion at court at the moment, after all – was not enough to excuse the rest of his dress.

"_Ah that's him,_" Gnarl said with satisfaction. "_I'd recognise that moustache anywhere. S'kareryeon, Prince of the Abyss, Master of Lies, Corrupter of Men, how are you?_"

The man beamed, the corners of his lips turning up a little more than was perhaps normal – or human. "Ah, _tres bien_," he said with an affected Gallian accent, "Gnarl, you old goblin, you! I have not heard from you in, oh! Eighty years! I had thought you might have abandoned me and our little friendship! And I go by 'Scarron' now!"

There was an embarrassed cough from the gauntlet. "_Nothing so simple..._" Gnarl began.

"Well, I am sure, _mon ami_, that you have all kinds of interesting tales to tell me of your great and Evil exploits! Unless you were stuck at the bottom of a hole for eighty years, I cannot guess what secret and dark deeds you have accomplished!"

"_I was,_" Gnarl said. "_A vampire killed my last Overlord and stole the tower and locked me in a cage._"

"Ah! Oh well, I hope he was one of those dashingly handsome vampires, with the gorgeous floppy hair and the..."

"_It was not. He was disgustingly bourgeois._"

"Oh! My, my, my! Such a shame! We will need to catch up, _mon ami_, have a little _tete a tete_." Louise frowned. There were oddities in his pronunciation which led her to suspect that he did not actually speak Gallian, but was merely throwing in half-remembered phrases out of some kind of sense of obligation, she thought, as he turned his attention to her. "And, my! Gnarl, you come bearing gifts! Who is this adorable little girl with the glowing eyes! The daughter of your current overlord? My, my, someone wants his little girl to be precocious!"

Gnarl coughed, "_Ah,_" he began, but not quite fast enough. Louise already had her gauntlet and the hand within it pointed at the man's face. And then with a moment's thought, the elevation dipped somewhat.

"No," Louise said, rising to her feet; a gesture which accidentally pulled down her hood. "Gnarl, how _dare_ you make me visit this... this _disgustingly _uncouth man! I... I will not sit here and be casually insulted!"

"_Sacre bleu_!" the man - S'kareryeon, Scarron – exclaimed. "It is Karin, come in pocket-sized disguise to wreak havoc on me! I have done nothing wrong in sixty years! Spare me!"

"_..._" Gnarl did not say. "_No, S'kareryon, you are spared that much. She is a new overlady, and one who shows rather a bit of promise in her mastery of cruel imperiousness and ill-temper. Why, she beats up, burns, hits or otherwise punishes her jester at every opportunity!_"

The man wiped his brow. "Ah, thank all that is wrong," he said. "I was terribly afraid that a most dreadful woman would come and peel off all my skins with flaying winds for all kinds of minor wrongdoings in my past.

"_Oh, don't sell yourself short,_" Gnarl commented. "_You're the high prince of the Incubi and the lord of the rising tower, master of the one-eyed giants of Angarok and the purple-helmeted guardians of the V'hanemsaw depths. Your wrongdoings are rather more than minor._"

Scarron flapped a hand in Louise's direction. "Oh, you charmer, you," he said, smiling. "But alas, I too am down on my luck for the last sixty years." He shook his head sadly. "You say you have been in a hole at the bottom of the ground for the last eighty years; well, I have barely fared better. But... ah! This is not a conversation for the public rooms like this." He bowed to Louise, a gesture which had him fold impossibly at the waist until his forehead was momentarily pressed against his shins, before he rose again.

"My dark lady," he said, graciously, "I must apologise with utmost sincerity for my most terrible doings in not recognising your power here, and assuming that you were Karin of the Heavy Wind using the Rite of the Tiger-in-Palm to come in most cunning disguise."

"Uh," said Louise, who was not sure what else she should say.

"Please, come with me; I feel we should talk in a more suitable place," he added. "Gnarl, you old goblin, I hear you have been putting out some _petit _feelers, looking for my services in particular, and that means I believe we can make a... how shall we say it, _deal_."

"_That is the intention,_" the elderly minion said, as Louise followed the man – the demon – down to another doorway, and down a second flight of stairs which left her with the nauseating feeling that she had been walking on the spot, unmoving even as she descended.

The pair of them emerged into a room much like the one they had just left. Much like, but not identical. For the light was even redder here, and the smoke was thicker. There were windows mounted in the walls, and through it fires could be seen burning and the movement of half-seen figures.

But the main difference was in the clientèle. In the last room, there had been a disreputable bunch of hard-faced men, armed women, mysterious strangers in black robes sitting in the corner of the room, and other such individuals who contribute mightily to society in various ways – mostly in the fields of acts of premeditated crime, conspiracy, and looting the hoards of dragons. In _this _place, the individuals were of a rather more demonic nature, although otherwise fairly similar. Busty horned women festooned in pistols played dice games against small imps who snorted lines of blackpowder, while a winged man with blue-black skin juggled eyeballs on stage.

Everywhere, there was the chatter and hiss and shriek of voices raised in conversation and raucous laughter. A few denizens turned to stare at the black-robed figure with the glowing eyes who had just entered, but Louise did not appear to be sufficiently interesting or unusual to keep them from their entertainment.

"Oh," Louise said, faintly. The entire scene looked like an instructional artwork of the fate of sinners after death, and... she hastily patted herself to check for any puncture wounds that she may or may not have acquired on her trip here, because it would be just her luck that someone had actually murdered her and this was where she ended up.

"Ah! Mi mademoiselle!" one of the horned servers said, bouncing up to Scarron. "Welcome back! And who is this Evil-eyed lady you have with you? A first time guest? How wonderful!"

"I know, I know darling," the man replied, with an extravagant air-kiss. Scarron took Louise's arm in the manner of the court. "Welcome to the Abyssal branch of the Charming Fairies Inn," he said, smiling a smile which nearly linked ear to ear. "A friend of Gnarl is always a friend here; I will have to make sure you get a membership pass. But, come, come! We must drink, and then get down to business! In harsh times like this, with the crown princess arrested and the Council having assumed the regency in the Queen's distress, there is always a chance for Evil to make a profit!"

Louise paused. Blinked. Blinked again.

"Wait. What?"

Scarron's eyebrows raised. "You have not heard? Where have you been for the last two months, at the bottom of a hole in the ground?"

"Yes!"

* * *

…


	7. Part 2-3

_"Fear is the only ethical method of social control. Take this village. Because I executed every man and woman over the age of thirty by impaling them on giant spikes, made the survivors drink the blood of their parents, and forbade anyone from taking down the corpses on pain of pain followed by eventual death, they fear me and fear for their souls. Hence, they will not rise up against me, because they know I will do worse things to them if they ignore my gentle warning. It's kinder like that, because if they rebelled I'd have to execute them all, slowly and painfully over the course of several weeks. But I do sometimes think I am a trifle soft-hearted._

– Louis de la Vallière, the Bloody Duke

* * *

…

* * *

"It all began two months ago," Scarron said, settling down in an extremely plush chair in one of the private rooms. Louise perched on the edge of her chair; she did not feel quite comfortable on it. It was warm, and she was fairly sure that it was breathing. The man crossed one leg over the other at an angle which would have had a human male talking in a high pitched voice, and propped his chin on his hands. Unfolding behind him was a pair of wings, blue-black, which Louise tried to pretend was just shadows on the wall.

"_Wait a moment, let me just..._" there was a thump, and Gnarl's image, wavery and coloured in shades of blue appeared beside Louise, floating slightly above the ground. "_See! Good as new once you wiped the mould off the old crystal ball. Can you see me?_"

Scarron beamed. "Oh, _oui_, you old sheep-botherer," he beamed. "You haven't aged a day! Well, maybe a few days; the beard looks a little longer." The incubi became more serious. "You know about the Albionese Civil War, of course?" he asked rhetorically.

"Of course," Louise said, answering anyway. "I was only… only out of contact for three months, after all."

"Ah, good, good! Well, the Republicans were victorious. The king of Albion and the Prince Wales are dead; the Princess Hibernia is said to have fled to Germania, but since she's only nine not much will come of that for a while. But that is not what matters. For shock! Scandal! Infamy!"

"What?" Louise asked, getting slightly annoyed.

"Well, it emerged that Princess Henrietta had already pledged herself to the Prince Wales, and had sent men to recover her lover to safety in Tristain! Promised him her hand, and sworn sacred oaths to God and the Founder to that end! Scandal and infamy indeed, for that fact emerged after a marriage treaty had already been signed with Germania!"

Oh.

"Um," said Louise, blushing faintly. Oh. Oh. Um. If that had been… so that had… and then that… add up the dates… yes. Um. Oh dear. She was a _little _bit responsible for all of this happening because she had been the one who had been covering for Henrietta at that grand party to let her friend sneak away for some… kind of secret meeting. Multiple times. At night. And the princess had come back rather mussed and once with her dress on back to front and soaking wet. She had _said _she had been swimming, but...

Oh dear.

"Henrietta," she whispered sadly, already seeing where this was going.

"_Hmm,_" Gnarl mused, "_she is precocious. Two husbands by that age already. Mind you, she's descended from Queen Isabelle III, who would be her… what, her great-great-great grandmother? Or possibly great-great-great-great. I lose track of the years, sometimes. Either way, she used to entertain guests while in her bath of mare's milk and dabbled in demonology. Remember her, S'kareryeon?_"

The incubus smirked. "Oh yes, she was a precocious little girl. Why, she first summoned me when she was only fifteen, and was very disappointed to find that I wasn't interested in women. She was sixteen when she had succubi murder her older sister and parents. It was _très _disappointing when her son locked her up and exorcised her magic, but those were a good twenty years for us. Good times, good times; didn't your overlord manage to conquer a fair amount of the north then?"

"_Yes, those were the days,_" Gnarl agreed.

The conversation was briefly interrupted as a busty woman with horns and wings and about three handkerchief's worth of fabric on delivered the drinks. "Here you are, mi mademoiselle," she said, bowing, before walking back out, swinging her hips.

Louise took a sip, and spluttered at the mouth-burningly strong alcohol. She tried to conceal the fact that she spat it back into the mug, because she was fairly sure she could get tipsy from a few mouthfuls of this thing served in pints. "I don't care about those days!" she declared, to conceal. "Stop reminiscing and tell me what's actually happening!"

"Oooh, listen to the temper on her!" Scarron said approvingly. "She's a fierce one, Gnarl, though I suppose that is to be expected of a de la Vallière. Oh well." Scarron smoothed back his moustache. "Well, once that news was out, things were all a mess. The Germanians were furious, of course. They'd been made into fools. And the Church wasn't happy either. So one thing led to another, and they tried and convicted the crown princess of the venal crimes of bigamy and adultery."

Louise swallowed. "They… they can't and… no."

"Oh, but they can!" Scarron said gleefully. "She is merely the crown princess, not the queen, and her mother did not act to stop it; tales in the palace say that she is both furious and distraught. She was guilty, after all, by her own confession of _pacta sunt servanda_ bigamy for she was promised by sacred oaths to two men at once. And as for the adultery… well, she could not prove that she had _not _consummated her relationship with the Prince Wales, and the presumption exists and has always existed that a marriage is consumed unless the bride can prove otherwise, and thus – since she and the Prince Wales are known to have met at least once when the Germanian marriage negotiations were in progress – adultery was added to her sins." The incubus sniffed. "It's very silly, of course," he added.

"Of course it is!" Louise exploded.

"I know! Adultery is barely a sin, and I should know. Sometimes, if it's done with permission it doesn't tarnish the soul at all, which makes it worthless for vice and damnation."

Louise stared for a moment, and mentally recalibrated to what manner of being she was dealing with. Well, not dealing-dealing, because it was not allowed to consort with demons, but which she was… yes, merely getting information from and then Gnarl would do the actual dealing. Yes. That was it. The circuitous mental logic took the wind from her sails and stopped her from exploding at Scarron, and she took a deep breath, and forced herself to be calm. Settling back down, she crossed her arms on her lap. "So… so they convicted her of bigamy and adultery," she said, softly, the tension in her voice forced down. "But didn't Cardinal Mazarin have something to say about that?"

Scarron shifted slightly on his seat, his breaches squeaking. "Cardinal Mazarin has been thrown into the deepest darkest dungeons for treason, when it came to light that he had been trying to marry the princess to the emperor of Germania for personal gain – they say he had been getting thousands of ecús in bribes! Which," the incubus added darkly, "pleases me greatly. That old fool deserves to rot in there, for what he did to me and the many times he thwarted me, oh _oui_. Queen Marienne wasn't exactly the most capable ruler before, if you excuse me saying so…"

It was true, Louise did have to admit; the queen had fallen apart at the prince consort's death. Everyone said that.

"… but now they're saying that she's gone mad from the stress; that she spends all the days talking to her husband and berating her 'useless feckless daughter'. So the Council collectively has the regency, ruling in the Queen's name until she recovers. Apparently they are trying to find a new husband for her, anyone who could sire a child on her, because with this shadow over her it is inconceivable that the princess take the throne and... well, the succession is unclear, but it is possible that King Joseph of Gallia might be the next-in-line by some reckonings. They have made peace with the Albionese new government, and have raised taxes to pay compensation to Germania for the deeds of the princess."

"The Council," said Louise, voice low and flat. "Who is on it?"

The man rose, and recovered four sketches from a drawer. Shuffling them in his hands, he laid them out before her. "_Un_. Alexander Nicholas de Mott, the comte de Mott. He is… an amusing man," Scarron said with a devilish grin. "He and I have had certain dealings in the past, although he thought I was merely a man. He is a man of great appetites, great passions, and really great parties. I do believe the other members of the Council hold him in contempt, but he is popular among the nobility, and his fetes, pageants, and other little indulgences also win him support among the populace. He is confident, gregarious, and a wonderful lover."

Louise blanched at the images that Scarron was bringing to mind, and tried not to gag. "I see," she said. "I think… yes, mother commented that she thought he was a useless fop who couldn't… couldn't tie his own breeches without help," she corrected. That hadn't been precisely what her mother had said about him, and if she had known her daughter was listening she probably would not have used the language she had used.

"Fop? Why, certainly. Fops, as you put it, have the best fashion sense. But useless?" Scarron's hand went to his mouth. "Oh my, no. He is a skilled mage, and he is more than anything else likeable. That much is needed to counter some of the others; for example, _deux_. Françoise Athénaïs de Mortemart, marquise of Montespan. She…"

"I vaguely know her," Louise said. "My oldest sister is a friend of hers. Well, they go to the same readings, and once fought a duel over a theory. Well, more than one duel, actually. That's about as close as Eleanore gets to 'friend'."

"Mmm, _oui, oui_. She is a great beauty of the realm, but more than anything she is clever… perhaps too clever. They call her 'the Alabaster', and that describes how she looks and how she acts, too. She has taken over the treasury and has begun to rework the tax code; she is calm, logical, precise and cold. They say she makes those people who do not do as she orders to her standards into a living hell. Which is ridiculous," the incubus said, leaning back, "because living hells are not a bad thing." He shrugged. "She controls the money, and through it she controls the bureaucracy. And many other things too."

"_Oh, I like her,_" commented Gnarl. "_Beautiful, and a love for the bureaucratic arts? I think I might rather like to reform her tax code and extend a mandate for major infrastructural projects which ease the delivery of goods to urban populations with her. And cover her in melted chocolate._"

Louise opened her mouth. Louise closed her mouth. Louise opened her mouth. Louise closed her mouth. "Moving on," she managed hastily, "… really, really far on, who's the third?"

Scarron leaned back. "_Trois_? That would be Armand Jean du Plessis, duke de Richelieu."

Realisation dawned. "Oh, of course," said Louise bitterly. "The Chief Justice of the courts. Of course he would have to be in on this. No doubt he was the one who issued the charges against Henri… against the princess. Which means that any judge he's personally appointed since… Founder, he's been serving for decades, most of the judges and magistrates in the kingdom are probably in his pocket, or at the very least are loyal to him. He gives everything a nice clean shine of legality," she said, sneering. "All nice and… Good."

Beside her, the flickering blue image of Gnarl smirked. "_Oh, indeed,_" he said, smiling like a cat who had just got not only the cream, but everyone's else's cream as well. "_That is what Good does, no?_"

"Well, I can't feel _too _ill-inclined towards him," Scarron said idly, "because he did throw Cardinal Mazarin in the deepest, darkest jail he could find."

"Ambitious, domineering, pushy, energetic," the pink-haired girl said darkly, ignoring the other two. "Yes, it all fits. I wonder if he even had to be bribed to do this, or whether he did it all on his own?" Shaking her head, she looked down at the sketches for the first time, paying proper attention in the dim light of the Charming Fairies Inn. And the fourth was… oh no.

"_Oui_, the last is _quatre_. And that is Jean-Jacques de Wardes, viscount de Vajours."

"My fiancé," Louise said, her world crumbling around her.

Scarron coughed. "Well, I do believe that the engagement was called off after you were thought to be dead," he pointed out. "Your horse was found, exhausted and injured, wandering in the wilds of the north. There was no sign of you." He shrugged. "Ah, well. _Oui_, yes, the knight-captain of the Griffin Knights, and now the knight-general of all three orders. He says that he was so overcome by the discovery that he had been duped into aiding the princess in her adultery and bigamy that he had to, in the name of his honour, take the information straight to the duke de Richelieu. As an honourable man, you understand." The dark-haired man had a twist of amused sarcasm in his voice. "Well, this 'honourable man' is proud, lonesome, and self-occupied. In some ways, he is the one I cannot get a handle on; all the others have things that they want. I cannot discover what he wants, though he diverts men of the military towards some goal that I know not."

"This can't be true," Louise whispered. "And… I'm dead." She bit her lip. "Cattleya must feel terrible," she said, sadly. "I should let her know… but no, I… argh." She thumped her chair, and it yelped in pain, prompting her to squeak in surprise. "Maybe it is a question of honour for him," she said, "but… that doesn't make it acceptable! Even if it was, he should not be helping such… such _terrible _people!"

"They say he shares the bed of the Madame de Montespan," Scarron added helpfully.

"How dare he!" Louise screamed, prompting the incubus to flinch and his wings to instinctively go to block. "How _dare _he! He should still be mourning me! His fiancé is dead in tragic circumstances… he shouldn't be jumping into some cheap tart's bed! How very _dare _he! And… that, outside of marriage, when he's just had Henrietta arrested for… that lying, hypocritical, cowardly, dishonourable, ill-bred, piggish, insensitive, cheating, unfaithful, terrible, horrible, mean, stupid _dog!_" Eyes ablaze, her hair blowing in an unseen gale, she panted with her hands held in front of her as if she was throttling a man seen only in her mind's eye – which happened to be true. "He is going to _pay _for this! And so is she!"

* * *

…

* * *

In the streets of Bruxelles, the band of five perfectly normal human children were doing perfectly normal things like casually stealing laundry, picking pockets, and picking up dog excrement off the floor and throwing it at passing carriages. The latter activity proved so popular that actually-real-human children joined in, and in the resulting chaos the disguised minions got bored and continued on their mission, following the path of the green among their number who sniffed constantly.

"Here!" it announced, pointing up at a large stone waterfront building.

Maggat shot a doubtful look at Fettid; a look shared by the other minions apart from Igni, who was picking bird muck off a windowsill and carefully putting it in a pouch on his belt. "Is it just because place is next to river?" he asked. "Because Scyl not want to have to need to bring you back to life again. Think there some blue life force in green that make you. You no can swim, Fettid."

"Yeah," Maximilian agreed. "Fettid pretty dumb sometimes. Not as dumb as goblin, but pretty close."

"Listen, I smells it," the beleaguered green hissed. He jabbed a finger at his nose. "You wanna argue with this nose? Nose better at smelling than you."

"You is pretty smelly," Scyl commented, adjusting his wimple. "Maybes we should try it, Maggat. What's the worst that can happen?"

Maggat glared at the blue. "We all get killed by angry humans, and you not able to get away to sneak back and bring us back from dead place and so we have to be dead forever? Also, Overlady or Gnarl give us bollocking when they find out. 'Specially Gnarl."

"Well, yes," Scyl admitted, "but what else bad?"

"Listens," Fettid said, sniffing again, "I can smells it clear as nose on face. Building stinks of Evil, just like Igni stinks of burny things. Evil and Abyss and humie sweaty and drinkies and hornies and hair and fire and smoke and…"

Maximilian groaned, slapping a four-digitted hand into his forehead. "Stupid! Why you not say it smells of hornies! Hornies are what we is looking for, because Gnarl's friend is a hornie! Argh! You as dumb as humie who cannot speak!"

"Are humies what cannot speak stupid?" Igni asked.

The brown shook his head. "No, see-see, because word 'dumb' actually mean…"

He was slapped over the back of the head by Maggat. "You is getting all poet-ical on us again, Maxy," the larger minion said threateningly, "so I think it be time for you to be shutting up again. And for us to be going into building and having drinkies, while Fettid sees where the hornies and the Overlady be."

* * *

…

* * *

"Does this usually go on long?" Scarron whispered to Gnarl, both eyes locked on the furious overlady who was building increasingly long chains of bowdlerised profanity to describe her former fiancé. "You say she's only been doing this for a few months? Oh my, she has a good grasp on the basics of ranting! I haven't heard something like this in years."

"_Oh, she usually rants for a while, and then goes to sulk,_" Gnarl observed. "_She has so much Evil in her heritage that it's not much of a surprise that she has a natural flair. Now, anyway, S'kareryeon, perhaps we should get back to business._"

The incubus settled back down, being careful to try to keep away from Louise's line of sight. "Oh, certainly _mon ami_," he said. "I suppose it is information you will be wanting to buy, at the usual rates. Because we are old friends and because I expect repeat custom from you, I will give those basic facts about the recent events for free; it would not do me well to sour you by making you pay for things you could have picked up off the street."

"_You're a temporarily useful ally, S'kareryeon,_" Gnarl said.

"Oh, you. You charmer."

"_Mmm. Well, there are several things. There are some missing artefacts from the tower, and I suspect they have passed through your fingers, but they are lower priority. There are two important things. Firstly, that disgusting vampire managed to damage the tower heart, and bits have been chipped from it._"

Scarron's hand went to his mouth. "_Zut ahors!_ Is it…"

"_It's stable,_" Gnarl reassured him, "_and not about to explode. Just. But it is damaged, and cannot do many of the things it should be able to. I estimate that perhaps three to four separate fragments have been chipped off. It is barely stable._"

The man pursed his lips. "For this, I will give you a discount if I hear of such things," he declared. "An explosion of raw magic wiping out northern Tristain if some idiotic Hero decides to attack the heart with a pick-axe and damages it further is not something which will serve my interests, so if I tell you of such things, I will expect you to act quickly to recover it."

Gnarl grinned. "_I can promise you that much_," he agreed. "_And the other thing? That bloody vampire pawned pretty much all the armour for the overlady. She cannot rampage across the land like she is – at best, she can sneak around and be a sinister presence on the land in that robe. And that is not enough. Especially when she so clearly wants to be the rampaging kind of overlady, not the subtle corrupter type. We therefore need to commission a new set of armour, based to be compatible with the gauntlet._"

"Which gauntlet is she using?" Scarron asked. "The Xcythine Talon? The Oasaka Claw? The…"

"_The Gauntlet._"

"The… oh my." Scarron shot a glance at Louise, who by now had stopped shouting and was instead rhythmically balling and unballing her fists, muttering to herself. "There is a person I know," he said, quickly, "and she would be overjoyed to work on such a project. She has always wanted something grand to work on with her hobby, but alas, the most she has been able to get in commissions is a breastplate or so, most of the rest being jewellery."

"_I expect you'll want a commission,_" Gnarl said cynically.

"I think I'll waive this, just this once," Scarron said, rising and unfolding his wings. "For one, I'll see whatever you pay myself. And for two, I do like to keep my little girl happy." He paused. "But don't expect this treatment normally," he added. "We can take your overlady to be fitted, and then you and I… well, we can get reacquainted properly, eh?"

"_And you might even explain what you're doing here, running a bar and trading in information rather than ruling over vast domains of the Abyss._"

The man pouted. "Don't push your luck that hard," he warned. "At least buy me a drink first."

* * *

…


	8. Part 2-4

_"Oooh no, you can't trust no elves never, see. They be strange and terrible beasties, with 'orribly wicked ways. They smell of tar pits, 'ave 'eads shaped like mushrooms no less, an' are scared of garlic. That's why I al'ays eats garlic for moi lunch; so's them bloody elves don't come an' steal moi 'orses. I didn't do so for one day, an' look what 'appened. It was elves what set moi 'erd of 'orses on fire with their evil fire ray from the sky, an' then they paid goblings to steal moi chickens and beat me up!"_

– Ol' Phil, uneducated horse herder

* * *

…

* * *

Louise de la Vallière climbed and climbed a long, spiralling staircase in the depths of the Abyss. Was she going up? Was she going down? Most of the time she felt she was ascending, but there were moments when she wasn't so sure. Out the windows, she could see a smoke-choked landscape, fires burning in the distance. On the occasions she was close to the ground, she could see demons outside, choking in the fumes.

She followed the staircase to the end, though, as she had been instructed by Scarron, and rapped on the brass-bound door. "Come in," a voice called out.

It didn't sound... demonic. That was probably a reassurance.

The room past the door was very normal, all things considered. One did not expect a room which actually looked remarkably like Eleanore's back at the estate, what with papers scattered over the surfaces and pinned up on the walls, but that was what it was. And the black basalt and brass themes were somewhat broken up by the fact that the walls had been whitewashed, and there were watercolours of kittens and ponies and the like on the walls.

Sitting on the chair in the room was quite possibly the most handsome man Louise had ever seen in her life. His long black hair and the way it matched his slightly pointy chin made her feel weak at the knees. Her mouth felt as dry as the heights of summer as she stared him up and down, her eyes picking out his wide hips, waist, generous bosom and...

Wait. Wait just a moment.

Louise slapped herself in the head with her ungauntleted hand, and squinted at the vision of manliness, who opened his mouth and spoke. And what he said was this;

"Oh, _bugger_. Did I leave it on again?"

There was a moment of uncertainty, and then, without changing in appearance at all, he was suddenly clearly and obviously female. She rose, and brushed some crumbs off her skirt. "Sorry," she apologised again, "am I running late again? Is it my turn for a shift in the aboveworld? I thought I didn't have any barmaid things booked today!" As she said that, a tiny stubby pair of horns retracted into her forehead, and the four atrophied bat-like wings in her back folded back in.

"What the hell was that?" Louise blurted out, eyes wide.

"... okay, you're not from Dad if you don't know about the thing, so... uh. Um." The dark-haired girl massaged her neck. She looked to be perhaps twenty; curvy and a little plump, which was enough to give her quite a bust, with her hair crudely thrown back in a hair band. "Half-incubus. Sometimes happens when I'm focussing really hard on something. I end up all attractive. It's bloody inconvenient."

"But..." Louise wetted her lips. "You were... I was... it was all manly and..."

"No," she said with the weary tone of someone who had to explain this kind of thing frequently, "As I said, I'm half-incubus. Not succubus."

"But…"

"And _yes_, I'm a girl." The woman sighed. "You have no idea how hard it makes finding a boyfriend when you're radiating raw masculine sex appeal. Girls stare at you slack-jawed and boys feel threatened. Bloody half-succubi have it easy… well, at least the girl ones." She shook her head. "But enough about that. Who are you, and why are you in my room?"

"Scarron... your father said that you did armour and... I'm a new Overlady and..." oh Founder drat it, her tongue was tying itself in knots and she was making a fool of herself, drat, drat, drat. She tried again. "I wish to commission a set of armour from you."

"Really?" the other girl asked, wide-eyed and remarkably enthusiastic. "Really really? I'm Jessica, by the way! Really?"

Louise looked around. That sounded... uh, a little too keen. "Yes?" she hazarded.

Jessica turned around, and made her way over to a desk covered in drawings. Louise's eyes boggled as she saw the contents of some of the sketches, which suggested either a fevered and perverted imagination obsessed with dark fantasies, or that the girl had been using some of the demons downstairs as models for improving her drawing skills. "Clearly, as this is my first proper commission of armour, we should do this from scratch!" Jessica announced happily. "Yes! This is my chance to make a name for myself. If an Overlady conquers a nation wearing my armour, that's the kind of thing which really establishes your brand! Even if you fail, as long as you make plenty of mess doing so your image – and thus my work – will go down in history! Time to show all those soulless infernal armouries who didn't want a half-breed designer what they were missing out on!"

* * *

…

* * *

The bar of the above-ground, non-Abyssal part of the Charming Fairies Inn was heaving. The normal crowd of misfits, mercenaries and malcontents were being served by women in low-cut dresses and men in tight breeches. Unusually, there was a table of perfectly ordinary children here, ordering drinks. It was felt that it was probably better for the children to be drinking in here where responsible adults could keep an eye on them. After all, no one wanted drunken children roaming the streets. The little buggers were enough of a pain when sober.

As one, the minions downed their beers, and sighed in relief. After much discussion, they had established that they were here incognito, and as the cognito they were wearing was the kind of thing that someone who would pay for beer wore, they had done so. There had been a minor ethical question raised by Fettid, who queried if they were breaking the Minion's Code by paying for something, but careful deliberation had decided that as long as they stole enough to make up for the shortfall before they left, they weren't doing anything Right.

It would be best if they stole the money they'd paid back naturally, but this was a demon-run bar, and demons tended to be unfriendly to acts of ethical plundering. And hard to kill when there were only five of you, which was really the determining factor in the moral calculus.

Because they were not meant to be fighting, and were just waiting for a chance to help the mistress, therefore, they went and had a second round of drinks.

"A hero!" the minstrel sang, strumming his instrument. "Yes, here I am, to tell you the tale of a hero!"

All around, there was a mild shift in attention, as people began to listen for a lack of anything better to do. "Booooring," whined Fettid, to which Maximilian replied by smacking him over the back of the head.

"Oh, our story starts with a hero,  
A hero young and brave,  
Bored, unloved, alone,  
Adventure he did crave!

One day, when he was walking,  
A terrible thief came by,  
'I'm just an innocent secretary and this golem is here to help me with paperwork,' said she,  
He knew it was a lie!"

There was a grating of teeth from the direction of Maximilian, at the mutilation of the song's meter.

"'You lie' said he, 'I'll strike you down',  
The watchers prepared to lament,  
Little did they know that he was going to win,  
That brave hero, Guiche de Gramont!

He was a brave young hero,  
A cunning plan he planned,  
Against a golem he'd need all his skill,  
So he started by drawing his wand

And then our brave..."

"Oi!" a voice yelled from the audience. It was revealed to come from a small, smelly tatterdemalion child, holding a club. "You is a terrible poet! Why you got so many different silly-balls on each line, huh? Too stoopid to work out the right number. And... and you rhymed 'lament' with 'Gramont', you hack! Those words not rhyme!"

Maggat sunk his face into both hands. "Ach," he muttered. "And this is why Maxy not go into bars." He perked up. "Oh well, fight time soon. Igni, I think we get in trouble if we is burning things, because this is horny bar. If Gnarl find out, he do terrible things to us. So smashy weapons only. And no stabby or poison, Fettid, got it?" He looked around, trying to see the green, who had vanished. "We is going to get in so much trouble for this," he muttered, just as Maximilian leapt at the ill-fated – and also just-not-that-good – bard and started beating him around the head with his club.

Disappointingly, the audience appeared to be of the opinion that the small smelly child had a good point, and this was much more amusing than listening to a hack bard sing about the exploits of Guiche de Gramont. After all, everyone had heard about how he had stopped Foquet of the Crumbling Dirt repeatedly since it had happened almost three months ago. 'Get some new material' was the general consensus; after all, it wasn't as if that was the only thing he had done since then.

And this happy state of affairs lasted until Fettid stabbed one of the nobles and stole his wandsword, at which point a bar brawl started in earnest.

* * *

…

* * *

"This?"

"Too much exposed flesh."

"How about this?"

"I can't just wear a robe open at the front like that with no corset underneath!"

"Hmm. This?"

"I do like the heels… but I think those spikes mean I wouldn't even be able to sit down without cutting myself. And once again, too much exposed flesh. And sharp bits."

"Well, how about this?"

"Half-naked. No way. I need armour on more than my arms, shins and... um, certain parts of my torso. No."

"This?"

"_Two-thirds _naked. Doubly no."

"This?"

Louise recoiled, covering her eyes. "Put some clothes on!" she shrieked, staring away from the half-incubus while blushing furiously.

Jessica pouted. "You're no fun," she accused, the shadows rolling back up her to solidify into a plain green dress. "Okay, okay, you can look again. I only did that because you're saying 'no' to everything I suggest."

"Everything you suggest is... is highly improper," Louise managed, still blushing furiously. "I can't wear that kind of thing. I just _can't_. Even if it was acceptable... and it's not... I... I don't have the figure for it, okay?" she said weakly. "You're just flaunting it by... by modelling illusion things like that. Catt... my older sister could pull it off, if she wouldn't be even more embarrassed by it than me. She's curvy. I'm not, and... and there's no need to rub it in! I... I just haven't had my growth spurt yet!"

Jessica threw her hands up and marched back over to her desk full of sketches. Rummaging through it, she recovered some books from under the papers. Louise winced to see the state of the spines of the tomes; they were nearly ruined from the way they had been treated. The dark-haired girl laid them down, and beckoned Louise over. "But look," she objected, "I've just been using classical reference sources as inspiration. Look... that one with the heels was worn by Lady Asamareth, who raised the dead all over Gallia around six hundred years ago. And the one you called 'half-naked' was the garb of the Anti-Popess Luxuira. And..."

"Wait a moment," Louise said slowly, staring down at the book. "Go back a page." She stared down at the figure there. It was probably a man from the build, but he was so completely wrapped in plate armour that it was possible that it could have been a muscular flat-chested woman. Nothing could be seen of his face at all, apart from the sinister burning eyes staring out of the deep shadows of his helmet. He held two brutal maces, each with heads shaped like a dragon's. Over the top of that was thrown a bear's skin.

"Who is _he_?" she asked breathily.

Jessica scanned her eyes over the page. "Uh... William the Bloody. Minor Albionese figure of Evil, fallen knight," she traced her finger down the page, "vanished in mysterious circumstances when owing money to some vampires."

"Oh, I like that," Louise said. "Not the vampires bit, but the look. Those spikes. That," she jabbed her finger at the page, "that is what all your women's things are not covering. Literally, in most cases! But that? That is armour for scaring people and protecting you! That is something that is sinister and dark and... and looks good!"

The dark-haired girl stared at her blankly. "No it doesn't. It doesn't show off your figure at all."

"I don't have a figure!" Louise growled, and then coughed. "Yet. I will. And..." she paused, flicking through the book. "Yes! Here! Look at this one, with the blank mask and that two-handed sword and the mix of leather and plate! He's far better than..." she turned a few pages, "... yes, she's using exactly the same sword, but she feels compelled t-to only cover half her face, and not wear anything on her l-legs!"

"But you have nice legs," Jessica said, motioning with sketches in hand. "Your legs are... what's the word? Svelte? Does that mean what I think it means? And look, if we go for a Westalphazza style of boot, the eye is naturally drawn all the way up. I really like that look. It's the perfect way to show them off."

"I'm fond of them! I don't want them to be burned when someone throws fire at me, or when... when shrapnel from a cannonball or something bounces along!" Louise said, folding her arms. "And look at that thing! I'd be _freezing _wearing that! No wonder you can see her... um... well, she's certainly very cold dressed like that! I refuse!"

She took a deep breath. There was a plan forming in the back of her head. A slightly naughty plan, one which some people might even call Evil, but it seemed to be the best way ahead. And for it, she needed armour which would leave her unrecognisable.

Louise squared her jaw. "I am going to be going up against a council of traitors and treasonous unfaithful scum-licking ex-fiancé dogs. I _want _them to be scared of me. I want them to see a scary dark lady who is going to crush them beneath her m-metal clad boots. Not someone that they... they think l-lusty thoughts about!"

And now Jessica's lower lip was wobbling slightly, the constant criticism clearly getting to the older girl. Louise let out her breath slowly.

"Look," she said, more gently. "Those drawings of dresses and the like are... are nice, even if they're a bit," she coughed, "adventurous. And I don't have many spare dresses right now that fit, so once I have the armour, we can talk about things for me to wear when I'm not wearing armour... because Founder knows, I won't want to wear it all the time. In fact," she added, "I'll certainly need more dresses, because... well, I can't sew," yes, that was it, make a guarded confession, "and have you ever seen minions try to stitch? They're _horrible_. They'll sew both arms together and then tear new holes, given even the slightest chance."

Despite herself, Jessica giggled, perking up as she spread her papers out again and picked up a fresh charcoal. "Right," the older girl said, cracking her knuckles. "Yes! That's it! I _have _been too tied up in the old moribund ways of the old-school fashion houses! I'll show them! I'll take the classically masculine imagery and give it a new neo-gothic female touch! I'll blend the old fashioned Steel-and-Blood school with new post-Imperial tendencies!"

"Um," said Louise, who understood most of the words in the other girl's sentence when taken in isolation, but sort of lost track of them when combined. She decided to press on. "After all," she added, "Karin of the Heavy Wind was clearly the greatest Hero of the last generation by a long, long, long way, so... um, she wore full plate, and why not l-look to her for inspiration? For how you can armour someone without... um, forgetting to put armour on?"

"A classic! Post-feudal fallen knights! Yes! An Overlady for a new era, an era of blackpowder and bloody conquest!" Jessica declared, charcoal scratching away against parchment like a demented and highly enthusiastic spider.

"... you did get that I liked the heels from that earlier one?"

"Yep! And it'll play with the feminine themes, the clear statement that '_No, I'm not some half-succubi bitch who can get boyfriends by blinking my stupidly long eyelashes at people, so I have instead enough raw power to burn your face off and am not to be messed with_'. Assertive gynomagacracy, the power to _take_ what you want rather than relying on some little idiot who falls for the first blonde-haired horned tart who waltzes up when the two of you had something which was going pretty well, all things considered! It'll look _hellishly_." She paused. "Although I will need to put some enchantments in them to help with the balance which... yes, that means... yes!"

Louise sighed, and went to look for somewhere to sit. This was going to take a while, she just knew, and so she might as well use the chance to put her own thoughts in order.

* * *

…

* * *

Igni went from groaning body to body, emptying their purses. His red-skinned hand closed on a holstered pistol, and his eyes lit up. And so did the runes on the back of his left hand. "Igni _likes_," he all but drooled, hastily grabbing all the powder he could find off the badly beaten man.

Pausing for a moment, the minion looked around the room. There was still fighting going on, but by and large things had settled down into cursing, moaning, and scantily-clad barmaids picking grown men up by their heads and slamming them together.

Igni made a note that they were probably hornies, and therefore to be avoided.

Maggat, of course, was looting, in an even more systematic and efficient manner. He had brought his sack with him, and it was already bulging. Fettid was somewhere – who knew where a green went, except by the smell – and Scyl was up in the rafters, his brand new cloak wrapped dramatically around him. And Maxy...

Maxy had the unfortunate bard by the collar. "Say it!" the brown demanded of the terrified man. " Say it!"

"I... I... I..."

"Say it proper-like! You wasn't stammerin' when you was doing _it!_"

"I... I solemnly swear to... to..."

"To never, ever, ever."

"T-to never, ever, ever... tr-try to rhyme two," he choked, as the brown tightened his grip, "to rhyme two _or more _words together which... which don't actually. Which don't actually rhyme."

"And?"

"And... an' I... I sw-swear that I will... I will... k-keep to the meter of poetry and s-songs!" the man managed, his voice rising in sheer terror. "And that if I break from it, it won't be because I c-couldn't be b-bothered to think up an extra verse to get theextrawordsin!"

The minion hit him over the head, and divested him of his purse, his lyre and his jacket in one impossibly smooth motion. Maximilian strummed the lyre, and nodded, once. "Well, I think we is just about done here," he said, cheerfully. "It Evil day for money and for music."

* * *

...

* * *

By now, Louise was standing around in her underthings, incredibly happy that she had made sure to wash everything last night and dry it off with pink-burning fire. The scorch marks hardly showed. Jessica was making sketches of her, trying various configurations from the books. Louise was unsure of how things were turning out, but what she did know is that her arms were feeling sore from being held out like this, and she really hoped the half-incubus could hurry up.

Eventually, she was nodded at, the dark-haired girl beaming.

"Is it done?" Louise asked, hopefully.

Jessica looked shocked. "No, of course not," she said. "That was me getting a basic profile of you and your shape and... you know, stuff. Now," she reached for thinner paper on her desk, "now I actually begin drawing the armour models. Oh, and don't really bother putting your clothes back on, because once I've got the sketches we're going to have to measure you."

Louise groaned. At least it was warn here; if she was to be perfectly honest things were probably more pleasant in just her chemise than she had been in the long thick robe. But that wasn't the point! The point was that she was sitting around in her underthings! Which was not a thing that proper ladies did!"

"There's a blanket over there if you're chilly," Jessica added.

Gratefully, Louise picked it up, and wrapping it tight around her, she shuffled back over to her seat. After a few minutes alternating between looking around the room, looking out into the thick smog outside, and blushing when she saw the sketches pinned up above the other girl's table, she cleared her throat. "So... um?" she asked. "I don't hope this is rude, but, I do maybe sort of have to ask... how did you. You know. Um. Come about."

"Oh, you know how it is," Jessica said casually, not even looking up.

Louise did not know how it was, and said as much.

"Ah. Okay, well, basically..." Jessica looked up, stretching out her right hand and working her wrist, "like, about sixty years ago the dark lord of the Abyss tried to take over the overworld. You know, portals, ravaging demons, pretty standard. Only, um, the wandering party of Heroes who had just killed the Butcher of Iberia happened to be near one of the first portals, were sucked into the Abyss, then went and killed most of his generals, burned down his citadels, and eventually fought him. He went and bragged how he'd always return, and then they went and bound him into the body of one of their number, who was... like, this wandering archer from the mystic East. So the lord of the Abyss got trapped into a mortal body, with the man still in control, and the invasion just kinda completely failed then. And he married one of the other Heroes, and they settled down in her village."

"Ah," Louise said, nodding with a certain degree of understanding. She knew how it was to, for reasons which were not your fault, end up with allegedly-evil power. "So they had children, and there was demonic taint in them, hence your father and you?"

Jessica looked somewhat uncomfortable. "Not exactly," she said, slowly. "Then, twenty-ish years ago, Dad tried to unite the lands of the Abyss together to try another invasion and free his father, and... uh, got thrashed. And my mother, who was the niece of the original Heroes, snuck in to his tower and... well, that's where I came from. He's a really good dad," she hastened to add, "he's just... well, a bit odd. Oh, and bound by blood to be like that and if he were freed again he would seek to crush the world for the humiliation that it inflicted on him. So that's a thing to bear in mind."

She paused.

"But seriously, I couldn't have asked for a better father. He's always been really supportive of my ambitions, and I certainly wouldn't be getting these kinds of opportunities if I was just some peasant girl! I'm much better off than my cousins!"

* * *

...

* * *

"She... she was dressed like a man at first," Scarron managed, slumped down with a pile of empty bottles in front of him. Gnarl's blue image floated by him, trying to look sympathetic rather than gleefully malevolent at the suffering of another. "She seduced me! And then when I was going to slip into something more comfortable, she... she was a thief! She stole my... my two great treasures, from th-th-their place at the base of the Rising Tower. W-without them, I... m-my power w-was gone," he wailed.

"_Jewellery has been the downfall of many a great force of Evil,_" Gnarl agreed.

Scarron shot him a disgusted look through tearful eyes. "H-how can you s-say that?" he managed, before breaking down again. "W-without my... my preciouses, th-the Rising Tower fell, and has r-remained f-fallen since then. And... and th-then she used one of them, t-to b-become pregnant, and s-so bound me with my own bl-bloodline! Me! Of all people! When I... I went t-to lengths to avoid that kind of thing!"

"_There, there._"

"... and, and then she made me follow h-her back to her hometown while she had the child, and... and when Jessica was five, she r-ran off with some little shiny paladin git, t-taking the remaining precious gem of the Rising Tower with her!" Scarron roared, seizing a full bottle and crushing its neck with his bare hands, drinking from the jagged hole before discarding it. "Leaving me with the child! Who I'm forced by the binding to protect!

"The worst part... the worst part is, Jessica is the bit which makes my... my emasculated slavery even a bit tolerable. And yet she keeps me chained because... because she is my own flesh and blood. I h-hate it, but I can't hate her. She... she reminds me of my older sister, before my younger sister murdered her. You know Gnarl, I never liked my younger sister. Stupid vapid little giggling pain in the backside who thought being a succubus was all about sex; not like poor S'suzenne. She knew things about... about intellectual temptation and how... how a well-chosen outfit can look better than mere nudity and... and how to have an intelligent conversation about art and the like. I used to... to really like our debates. It's... it's funny how much Jessica is like her." Scarron's moustache drooped in misery. "Dark gods, I miss her so much."

Gnarl stared at him, stroking his goatee. "_Old friend,_" he said, "_things must have been dreadful for you. Why don't you have another drink, to calm your nerves, and then we can talk about payment for your services?_"

* * *

...

* * *

Louise had dozed off in the warmth under the blanket, and so it was Jessica's enthusiastic "I'm done!" which woke her. She opened her eyes to see the other girl holding a series of complicated sketches labelled in some unknown writing system, and blearily rubbed her eyes.

"Eh?" she just about managed. How long had she been asleep? Sleeping rough last night must have taken more out of her than she'd thought.

"I'm done!" the girl repeated, with the same excess enthusiasm. "Look!" Shadows rippled around her, and left standing was...

... oh my, Louise thought, rising to her feet and letting the blanket slip down in her wide-eyed awe. That was astonishing.

Before her stood a robed and armoured figure. The robe was the first thing to catch the eye, and seemed to be based on the black robe she had worn to this meeting. This one, however, was in a deep, bloody crimson. And there were other differences. The robe was merely knee-length and short in the sleeve, well-placed cuts added to prevent it from reducing her ability to run. The hood was full, and cast the face in half-shadow, exposing only the mouth. Leaning in, squinting, Louise realised that somehow, the cut of the robe suggested cleavage that did not exactly exist, playing at the figure underneath. Where she went in, the robe followed closely, but where things went up and down it billowed, in a deception of well-cut fabric.

And rather than exposed flesh under the garment, there was steel. Dull, sullied steel which glinted in the hellish light from the windows. It wrapped every limb tightly, and under the opened robe there was plate which implied figure-hugging while not actually doing so. Even the heels were armoured. With a giggle at the expression on Louise's face, Jessica threw back the hood, to reveal the helmet underneath. Somehow the shadows clung to it too, still-shrouding half the face in a horned helmet which brought to mind both beasts and crowns.

"I'd recommend red lip-paint if you're going to wear the helmet like that," she advised Louise. "You want to bring out the lips here; I only went for woven shadow for the half-helm option, because you wanted to keep some feminine traces, and... uh, well, woven shadow is pretty expensive, you know."

"It's... it's _perfect_," Louise breathed. Before her was a figure of terror, of awe, of dark and imperial majesty. They were female, but they were female in a regal, bloody way.

It... it was like looking at Mother's dark reflection. And it was wonderful.

With a wave of her hand, Jessica dismissed the illusion, and picked up a tape measure. "Well, now comes the boring part of measurement," she said with a smug grin. "It's... it's really perfect?"

"Yes. Yes it is."

"Oh, that's wonderful! This is going to be amazing! I just know it is! And... oh yes, I'll get your measurements here so we can start talking about dresses too!"

Jessica busied herself with chatter as she began to measure up Louise, jotting down numbers as she went. Louise, for her part, was silent. This armour... it was the last piece she needed. The part she needed for her plan. It would be glorious, it really would.

Step One – build up her forces and gather wealth by attacking the treasonous forces of the Council. Gain a small reputation as a dark evil lord of unknown identity.

Step Two – "kidnap" Princess Henrietta from the palace and confine her to her secret, isolated tower where no-one could possibly find her. Issue ransom notes which demand that the Council surrender to her before she releases Henrietta; naturally, they almost certainly wouldn't do that. And that way, not only would Henrietta be safe, but she'd also have someone to talk to who wasn't a minion. Founder, that would be wonderful.

Step Three – Crush the Council-members-who-weren't-Viscount-Wardes. Slowly or quickly, it didn't really matter. Whichever was easier.

Step Three-and-a-bit – Spend a long time crushing Wardes for being an unfaithful dog who didn't even wait a whole season after her 'death' before jumping into bed with another woman. Slowly, painfully, and vengefully. Wait, maybe she should also spend longer crushing the Madame de Montespan, because she might have been the one tempting him.

Step Three-and-a-bit-more – Mop up whatever was left of them, and crush anything that she'd missed in earlier bits of Step Three. And do whatever other things were necessary, possibly involving crushing. She'd know when she got to that point.

Step Four – Tread the jewelled thrones of the world beneath her steel-clad heels, seize Bruxelles and raise her banner over the palace, possibly take the chance to attack the foes of her nation under a false identity, et cetera, et cetera.

And then... well. It would be so horrible if this faceless villain controlling all of Tristain was overthrown by one of their prisoners, the brave and valiant Princess Henrietta, who had been taken hostage by him. Such bravery, such heroism to defeat the monster who had killed all the Council in messy and fully-deserved ways would surely forgive any small mistakes she might have made in the past. Especially when her accusers were all dead. And if the princess would also rescue her friend, Louise de la Vallière, who had been taken prisoner long ago... well, Cattleya would surely be delighted to find her little sister was alive, and Mother would never need to know what Louise had been up to.

It was the perfect plan.

Louise began to chuckle.

"Oi!" Jessica glared up at her. "What's so funny? If these measurements are mucked up because you're moving, you're going to be the one who's going to be rubbed raw by chafing plates, not me."

"Nothing," Louise said serenely. "Nothing is wrong whatsoever."

* * *

...


	9. A Taxing Affair

_"Minions do so love to loot. You wouldn't want to leave those dear little faces looking unhappy, would you? No? Then pillage, plunder and pilfer! For your own benefit, of course."_

– Gnarl

* * *

…

* * *

The red moonlight streamed in down through the narrow hole cut in the roof. There was the squeaking of a wheel, and the light was momentarily blotted out as something small and remarkably pungent was lowered down. Muttered voices and the momentary flash of a dark lantern were lost under the noise from the streets below.

"Lower," the whisper came. "Come ons, you slackers."

The wheel squeaked again. "You can see it, Fettid?" one of the cranking figures asked.

Lantern light revealed itself from the hole, dancing over the inside of the solid stone building. "Yes," the explorer hissed back up. The light shone upon gold bars and solid crates. "Shinies are there."

"Right," the largest shadowy figure at the crank said, "we do what the Overlady said the plan was. Fettid, you grabs one bar at a time, and we crank you up. Igni?"

"Yep?" another figure said, standing by a collection of tubes. There was a small pop, as it lit a flame on the end of one of its fingers.

"Make sky-boom happens and mistress know we find gold for her."

"Oh yay," the other figure said gleefully, lowering its burning finger towards the end of the tubes.

There was a crackle, and a whoosh, as four rockets shot up into the sky, their exhausts coincidentally setting their igniter on fire. That did not seem to phase him, however, as he "oooh'd" and "aaah'd" at the explosions in the sky.

Which was only matched by the thunderous detonation elsewhere in the town. In the general consensus of the now-very-drunk townfolk, it was pretty, although all the alarm bells and running guards was a bit of a party pooper.

But this is actually an example of the narrative device known as _in media res_, where the tale begins mid-way through the story. No one knows exactly why authors choose to do this. Perhaps the profession has some form of collective snit which leads them to loathe giving full information about a sequence of events when they could be needlessly obtuse. It is certainly known for a fact that authors to a man laugh maniacally when they do it, and then twirl their moustache, retreat to their drawing rooms, and then get drunk on expensive absinthe. Or when they have no absinthe left, there's always rum.

Wait, no, that's poets. Authors are the hard-working, under-appreciated ones, who work long and hard to create an interesting set up. Completely different, and not at all like those tricksy poets who have the kenning of the arcane ways of rigid meter and rhyme. And so, now that the bait has been laid, our story leads up back two days earlier…

* * *

…

* * *

"Stand and deliver!" the highwayman announced, flourishing his pistol at the mail coach. "Your money or your life!" His cravat was finely set and his cloak was midnight black. Behind him three other somewhat-less-stylish, but certainly well-coifed highwaymen looked suitably sleek. They cast long shadows down onto the road, lit melodramatically by the setting sun behind them.

The driver froze, one hand slowly going behind him.

The highwayman gestured with his pistol again. "No, sir, do not think of such things. Else I would have to shoot you, and I'm sure you have a wife and children back home; sir, please think of them. Just get off the coach and lie down on the ground, and no one has to get hurt."

"I wasn't getting my blunderbuss for you, you daft bugger," the driver hissed. "I've been robbed before; I know how this goes. Look behind you!"

With a growing edge of unease, the man turned to look, and found that he and his men had been surrounded by a cluster of smelly green-skinned goblins. From the treeline, other creatures were emerging, holding a motley assortment of weaponry. This included a fair few pistols, held with concerning accuracy and proficiency. Their savage cries set birds fleeing.

"Your money an' your life!"

"For the Overlady!"

"Yarrrr!"

"You stoopid! 'Yarrr' for pirates, not highwayminions!"

And behind them was a figure. Against the blood-red light of the setting sun, they were a shrouded menace. Steel glinted in the dying day, but all that could be seen of their hooded features were a pair of terrible burning eyes.

There was a distinct air about the whole scenario which suggested that the walking nightmare should have been some towering titan, not barely over a metre-and-a-half tall.

"Get off your horses," the figure commanded, the voice clearly feminine, "and lie down on the ground. Drop your weapons, and take off your cloaks. As long as you do exactly as I say, no one need be... um, hurt."

"What? Bugger off, short-arse," the highwayman said. "I'm not stripping for no one, even if you are a woman under all that clank." He heard a click, and his eyes flicked to see a little goblin playing with the flint on its flintlock pistol. The firearm was unwavering held at his head, and he swallowed.

"Ha!" the stranger retorted, most of the menace leaving her voice. "That means you _are _stripping for someone!"

"What?" the man asked. "I just said... look..."

"Look, get off your horse or I'll set you on fire," she said, a ball of pink flame appearing above her left hand.

That was language he could understand, even if it was said in a decidedly noble accent. And now he had positive proof that it wasn't just some ponce in fancy armour, he might as well do what she said. Even if he managed to stop the goblin from shooting him, he'd just be set on fire. And if he tried to run away, he'd be set on fire. And if he tried to hide behind the mail coach... well, assuming he fought off the goblins surrounding it, he would be, yes, probably set on fire.

Bloody nobles, oppressing the common man like that. Wasn't fair at all. Couldn't a highwayman try to rob a bloody coach in peace and quiet without some magic-using twit busting up his hold-up?

By the end of the day, he wasn't quite sure what the worst bit was. Maybe it was the fact that the stinking goblins had stolen his tricorn hat. Maybe it was that they'd also stolen everything he'd been wearing, apart from his breeches. Maybe it was that they'd left him nearly-naked on a road at night with a similarly unclad coach driver and the angry bandits he'd recruited for this job. Maybe it was that they'd stolen his horse. Or even that the goblins had picked up the coach, and run away with it.

There had been so many bad things this day that he wasn't sure which one was the worst.

A wolf howled in the depths of the woods. Followed by another one.

Oh. Well.

Damn.

* * *

…

* * *

Almost two kilometres away down the road and then off into a clearing, the minions dropped the coach and the unconscious horses they were carrying. The animals had objected to being stolen, so had been rendered unconscious with only moderate amounts of enthusiastically unnecessary violence.

Breathing out, Louise took off her helmet and shook out her hair. She mopped her brow on the short robe, and then carefully put the helmet back on. "And that's how you carry out highway robbery," she declared to the world, giggling. "I... I robbed the robbers and stole the coach too! And we now have horses, too. And by 'we', I mean 'I'."

"And new hats!" a blue minion wearing a long black cloak and a tricorn hat said, bobbing his head sagely. Louise suspected it was deliberate imitation of Gnarl, which was only confirmed when the creature went to stroke a goatee it did not have. "And treasure for you, mistress!"

"_Well done, my lady,_" Gnarl said cheerfully. "_Normally I would have said that it's best to set the coach on fire, because even in summer it gets chilly in the evenings, but I suppose your own coach is something to plunder._"

The girl smirked. "That's not just why," she said smugly. "It's got the royal seal on the side, which means it's a royal mail coach, and that means that not only is it likely to have taxes onboard... which are illegitimately being collected by the Council under false pretences," and so she could legitimately take them went unsaid, "... but it's likely to be carrying messages and the like!"

"_And you have taken hostages, too! We will be able to use some of the rooms that disgusting vampire kept his 'brides' in until we have a proper jail set up._"

Oops. Louise blushed under the helmet. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of _course _there would be someone inside the coach! Even if they were locked when moving, there was a guard or a messenger inside just in case. And... drat, drat, drat! She should have thought about that! She should... no. But what if they were the... argh! "I will see if there is indeed someone in there," she said, as regally as she could manage, "and if there is someone, I will see if they are loyal to the Council. If they are, then I will take them captive. If they are not, I will release them to spread news that the Council are unjust traitors."

"_Oooh! Divide and conquer, and subversion! Sneaky!_" Gnarl said approvingly.

Louise stared at the coach. Almost idly, she created another ball of pink fire, more for the light than for anything. The minions looked rather strange when lit by that, she noted idly – something not helped by the few reds she had also flaring their own fires to life. Well, she better get this over and done with quickly before the reds set this area on fire, which they would inevitably do if she did not act.

"Minions," she commanded, "surround that coach! If there is a person inside and they try to flee, seize them and hold them down! Um. Don't kill them unless I tell you to. Not even by accident," she added, because in the months she had known them she already had acquired a fairly good grasp of the minion mindset.

"We right behind you, mistress," Maggat said, his trusty sack at the ready. Louise had retained his services even after acquiring the gauntlet, because it took time and remembering how to waggle her fingers just right to absorb money, and frankly it was much easier to have someone collect it all before she had to do her thing to it. "Just give the word."

Louise nodded. She opened her mouth to tell the minions to break down the door to the coach to get to the treasure inside, and paused. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea. She had this mental image of them breaking rather more than just the doors off. So instead she turned to Maggat and said, "Open the door, without breaking anything else. This is going to be my coach, and I will be angry if it is damaged."

Maggat stepped up to the door, rapped on it twice, and said, "It safe to come out now! Monsters all dead!"

The girl worked her jaw in surprise, but said nothing. That... had she just been outwitted by a _minion?_The fact that Maggat was winking heavily at the other minions and grinning like... like the illegitimate offspring of a wolf, a cat and some kind of monkey just made things worse.

"It's safe?" came a quavering female voice from within.

"Yes yes," Maggat said, mugging heavily for his grinning audience. "Safe as house!"

"It funny because house not at all safe when we..." began a brown, before being clubbed unconscious by other, slightly-faster-on-the-uptake minions.

"Okay! I'm opening the door," came the words. The carriage's door was opened. A fraction of a second later, a series of burning air-blades made their egress and scythed their way through the minions who had been clustered around it.

Oh, wait, whoever was in there hadn't fallen for it. Everything was better. Worse, of course, because now there was a mage firing spells around and Maggat and some of the others were dead and so needed some medical attention, but still. At least the world was making sense. Louise jammed her staff into the door before it could close, levered it open, and thrust her burning hand inside.

"You're in a wooden carriage!" Louise shouted harshly, raising her voice. "And I have fire! Surrender and you will be treated fittingly!"

... was she threatening to set people on fire too much? No, probably not. In fact, not at all! No one complained about _Kirche von Zerbst _being a fire mage whose entire personality seemed to be literally and metaphorically based around fire, did they? And everyone knew that fire mages set people on fire! That woman in the coach just had! So it would be hypocritical for her to protest at Louise's actions.

Safe in her logic, the overlady paid attention to the carriage and its occupant, who had sensibly lowered her wand in the knowledge that Louise could use the fireball before she could get a word of her chant out. The woman within looked to be a few years older than her, her mid-brown hair tied back into two split pigtails by expensive-looking scarlet ties. Her dress was coordinated to match that, gold-trimmed red brocade cut high in the neck, with white sleeves and trimming. To Louise's high nobility eyes it was typical of the upper-middle nobility, and more than a little gauche.

"So," she said, her accent providing all the further proof Louise had needed on her well-off status, "I'm your prisoner, then? And you clearly want me alive, or you would just burn me now... please don't. Please please please don't burn me. I'll do whatever you want. I'll… whatever! Just don't kill me!"

... on the other hand, the woman did not seem to be all that much taller than she was, and had a similar build. So at least there was some small degree of empathy there. And... wait a moment, why did the woman seem to be unfastening her dress? What on earth was going on?

Some of her confusion must have shown in her manner, because the woman paused. "Or would you rather wait until later, my lord? Do you wish to take me back to show off your dark tower? I'm sure it is… uh, very tall."

Louise de la Vallière, whose tower was not really a tower and was much more of a dungeon hidden within the dark places of the earth said the first thing which came to mind. And that was, "Excuse me? 'My lord'? What are you, stupid? Or just blind?"

There was a moment of mutual confusion.

"You're a girl?" the auburn-haired woman said, eyes bulging. Her hand hovered around the neck of her dress.

Louise glared at the woman, eyes flaring, and jabbed her finger at her chest. "What do you think these are?" she hissed. "Of course I'm a girl!"

The woman puffed out her cheeks. "Look, honestly, you're dressed like a man."

"I'm not!"

"You are too!" she pouted. "Evil women do not dress like that! You're exposing nothing but your mouth. And... and I would like to add, it was an easy mistake to make!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Louise shouted, the ball of fire in her hand flaring brighter.

"Look, if you're going to dress like a man, you could at least give people a clue that you're female! Like… in the armour? Or in the colour scheme?"

"Wasn't my voice enough of a clue? And the armour curves out in the chest! And I have heels! And steel and red looks good!"

The woman paused, and her eyes lit up as she suddenly 'realised' something. "I see," she said, languidly, leaning back inside the coach. "Oh, I see. Yes."

Louise did not see what she saw, but did use the chance to scoop the wand out of the coach with the end of her staff. It rattled down onto the ground, where it was swiftly picked up by one of the blues who were seeing to the burned and mutilated minions. Several of them were having to be pieced back together before they could be resurrected, and inevitably minion japes and jokes were occurring with severed heads.

"I am Rebecca de Ghent, second child of the marquis, on the service of the Crown, and I surrender myself to your custody in the expectation that I will be treated with the full honour and respect due to my station," the woman added, raising her hands to her neck to continue unfastening her dress. "I do so hope you won't indulge in all kinds of sinful and... dreadfully wicked ways with me." She paused, licking her lips. "I am a good daughter of the Church, after all, and to be drawn into sins of passion and lust would be just terrible."

Louise nodded. "It would be. You need not fear for your virtue." Now that she had surrendered, the other woman's honour bound her, so she let the fire go out. Simple enough.

That did not seem to be the answer the lady de Ghent was looking for. "I said," she said, peeling back her outer dress as she unfastened the rest of it, "I do not want some terrible force of darkness and evil taking advantage of my purity. Oh, to feel the hands of another woman on me against my will, ravaging me until I am forced to indulge in her dark pleasures."

"As I _said_, you are safe," Louise repeated, irritation seeping into her voice. "I'm not like some man... in fact, I took you away from those scoundrels who were the ones who tried to rob the coach in the first place.

"Oh, the horrors, the dark horrors of being ravished by a dark queen of the night!"

"Yes. You. Are. Safe."

The girl received a flat stare from the older woman. "You're a dark lady, who parades around dressed as a man, with a boyish physique, and you're trying to persuade me that you _don't _take decadent pleasure in other women? Am... am I just not attractive or something?"

"You want me to do _what?_" Louise yelped in horrified realisation. "That's... that's disgusting! I... I'm a girl! I think you must be disturbed from the shock!"

She was certainly not taking _this _woman prisoner, Louise decided. She might take being locked up in a cell as some kind of encouragement. This was certainly not a rational response to being held captive by a dark armoured figure and her smelly goblins. And even if she didn't... no, it was simply safer to get her as far away from her as possible. Preferably as fast as possible.

* * *

…

* * *

"... and she wanted me t-to take advantage of her!" Louise ranted, jabbing the meat on her plate with a fork. With a twist, she worked it in deeper. "Me! A girl! What kind of perverse decadent ways d-do some of the n-nobility have? I... I could j-just about understand why some handsome dark lord might t-turn the head of a silly young girl, but another girl?"

With a loud slurp she finished her wine, and slammed the cup back down on the table. The cup rocked on the ancient wood, and made the candle light dance. Founder, she couldn't wait until she got a dining place with windows, or failing that some proper magelights. The torches were too smelly to tolerate when eating – God only knew what the minions made them from – and candles were too dim.

"See! That is something which has to change! That there are p-people here who are _worse than Kirche von Zerbst! _At l-least she restrained her... d-depravity to boys! How... how dare she make me feel uncomfortable when I was the one who was holding her prisoner and she... she should have been feeling worried, and then relieved that I was not some m-monster! She actually took her dress off! Well, of course I took it, because there was a pistol hidden in it, but she… argh! It was horrible! I was completely right to tie her up and leave her by the coaching house in a sack with a note attached, because there was no way I would be spending any more time near her ever again! Ever!"

"Oh, indeed, my lady," Gnarl said blandly, eating cockroaches one by one from his bowl. Louise tried to ignore the crunches coming from his direction.

"And another thing! The assumption that just because... because I want to be warm and protected and so wear proper armour, I must be some kind of woman who wants... who wants to do things like a man! And not things like conquest and terror and other things l-like that, no! Not the things you'd expect someone wearing full armour to do! No, it's all about the things that y-you'd have to take your armour off to do!"

"You were the one who commissioned the armour in such a classically masculine design, my lady," Gnarl said, with more crunches. "I think you would be mistaken for a man if you covered up your hair and walked around your capital dressed as a man. It's just how things are done." He coughed. "And I do believe it is traditional to leave the helmet on."

"I did not want to know that!" Louise shrieked. That outburst seemed to take most of the fury she had been running off out of her, and she slumped down in her seat, sulking.

With perfect equanimity, Gnarl finished off his bowl of cockroaches and sautéed rat, and then had a wig-wearing minion refill his own glass. Lifting a folder of paperwork off the floor, he carefully went through a few sheets with an expression of what was probably mild contentment on his face. He made a few careful notes, and passed the finished documents to another minion, before pulling out a small leather-bound notebook.

"My lady," he said, after Louise had been stewing in her own anger for a good quarter of an hour, "do you wish to know of the things we found in the carriage?"

"… fine," Louise said sulkily. She straightened up slightly, the shift in her posture showing that the change of subject was a welcome relief.

"Well, firstly," Gnarl said, flicking through the notebook, "the carriage was carrying in magically sealed chests a collection of tax revenue. The dear little minions managed to break into the chests with no more than the usual amount of casualties, and almost all of the ones who were maimed, mangled, mutilated, or chopped into little pieces by golems have been bought back to life safe and sound. The treasury is looking a little more healthy, to the tune of just over a hundred of your golden coins?"

"A hundred ecú?" Louise asked, sucking in a breath. "That's a fair amount."

"Certainly a tolerable payment for an Evil day's work," Gnarl agreed. "Tolerable, if barely so."

"And I suppose since you're Evil, you'll start forging coins to pay people with and mixing some kind of… some kind of secret alchemical mix which weighs the same as gold in," the girl added, with only slight disapproval. "That way, it can go even further."

"Oh, no no no," Gnarl said, in a dreadfully shocked voice. "I may be blackest Evil, but there are some places even I won't go, and adulterating the currency is one of them. It only hurts you in the long run, because once you rule everything a loss of faith in your own currency is dreadful. And it also means that people carry less value because the currency is worth less, and so there is less per person for the little darlings to steal!"

"Uh," Louise began, and paused. "All right. Well, still."

"But the best bit came in that woman's dress, which you so cunningly stole," Gnarl continued.

Louise, who had taken it because she thought it would fit her and she really needed something to wear which wasn't made of steel said nothing. Anyway, it wasn't like it was theft if the person removed it themselves. It was more like… a present, yes. Or even an attempted bribe. And since she hadn't done what the briber wanted, that was good of her, wasn't it?

"You see, in the pockets, was this notebook, encoded in a cipher," Gnarl said. "Not a very clever one, I should add; pah! A substitution cipher is worth less than a green's personal hygiene when it comes to concealing meaning! Especially when you're stupid enough to begin each entry with the date! Why, that makes it simple to find out the substation being used; it might stop a casual reader from scanning over it, but it falls against even the slightest attempt from someone with dark and malign intentions – like me!"

"Will you get to the point?" Louise snapped.

"Yes, my lady. As I was saying," Gnarl said, flicking through the notebook, "enciphered within this notebook are a series of secret instructions from the Comte de Mott. She is on the service of the Crown – and thus the Council – a royal messenger, if you will. It also notes that she shouldn't be writing this down and it was given to her to memorise, but, oh well, such are the self-defeating ways of the disgusting Light and Good. The book notes that they have been collecting tax revenues from all across this province in the town of Loven, in a secret building separate from the normal vaults. Which, oh look, that ever-so helpful friend you made has noted down."

"She's not my _friend_," Louise objected reflexively, tilting her head as she thought. "So we know where that is… does it say how many guards there are?"

"No, my lady, but if it is secret… there will certainly be less defences than the normal treasury vaults. And…" Gnarl flipped a few pages, "why, I do believe that the Comte de Mott himself is scheduled to attend that place in a few days, during the festival he has arranged for Loven to get them to see the benefits of the Council."

Louise squared her jaw. "Go in, get the gold, leave him empty handed and humiliated," she said. "Or dead. Either works. Although he is meant to be a triangle-class mage… well, it may depend on how many men he has with him."

"Excellent plan, your dark ladyship," Gnarl said, slipping down off his chair. "I will go prepare for our assault on the town."

"No." The words were flat. "No, Gnarl, not yet."

The elderly minion paused, the light on the pole above him bobbing in surprise. "Excuse me?" he asked.

Louise gripped her hands around the edge of her chair, feeling the stone cold under her grip. "I will go in first, tomorrow," she said. "In disguise, in the black robe again. Use the chance to see the place, get to know it. See where the hidden treasury is. And also buy some food. And some fresh fruit and vegetables. And also to start some rumours about me where it is made _entirely clear _that I don't like women like that!"

The elderly minion sighed. "As you wish, my lady," he said, hobbling off.

* * *

...


	10. Part 3-2

_"Beware the evil lures of evil women! Revile their wicked ways, and keep your purity! They may look harmless, with their luscious, shapely bodies and red inviting lips which taste of cherries and sweet things and skin as soft as velvet which makes you shiver when they gently caress you! Nothing could be further from the truth! Given half a chance, they will send foul demons to do terrible things to you in your dreams, all night long! And then they will also seduce your secretary and do dreadful, amorous things to him and make you watch! And they laugh at you, and blame you for ruining their life and setting them on the path to evil when they loved you, but you chose to join the Church and left them pregnant rather than marrying them! And they burst out crying because they claim that you betrayed them even when you were childhood best friends and so forced them to learn black magic to get back at you! That is why you must revile them! Their malevolent, lying ways know neither boundaries nor restraint!"_

– Pope Aegis X, 'Lectures on the Wickedness of Women, Part XXIV'

* * *

…

* * *

Louise folded her arms, staring up at the ceiling from her bed. A sick buzz of nervous tension filled her stomach.

This... this was the point from which it wouldn't be easy to go back from. Right now, she could still just about appear back in civilised society, talking about a ruined tower and... and she could make up some story about being a prisoner or something. Once she had attacked a town of the nation, raided it, even killed another noble... there was no way back until the endgame. Not until she could say to herself honestly that it had been a necessary sacrifice and that the good she had done had outweighed what evil she was forced into.

But no. That wasn't an option any more. Not when people were holding Princess Henrietta captive. Not when her fiancé – former fiancé now – was a treacherous unfaithful dog. And not when going back would make her a failure at this chance to save her country from traitors. Her mother had not chosen to act for some reason, and so... there was no way she could find this tolerable! Something had to be stopping her from making everything better! Maybe they were even threatening Cattleya!

So she, her youngest daughter, would have to do it for her.

Louise de la Vallière squared her jaw and stared at herself in the cracked mirror the minions had found for her in the tower. Gnarl said it had belonged to a mistress of a former overlord, and that made sense, because... well. Vampires were not known for their fondness of mirrors. Either way, it was a pretty mirror, even if the obsidian spikes which surrounded it were rather ostentatious and – she had found already – sharp enough to draw blood. And this way, she could brush her hair properly which was a god-send. Helmets were _terrible _for one's hairstyle.

But now to the business at hand. What was she going to wear when she scouted out the village? Obviously, she had the robe she had worn to Bruxelles, but back then she hadn't had her armour, and she hadn't had the dress she had taken from that... that slatternly woman. Now she was faced with the horrors of choice.

Well, she certainly wasn't going to leave her gauntlet at home. The girl paused for a moment, at the fact she had actually thought of this rotten, stinking place as 'home', and then shook her head. Well, she corrected herself; she certainly wasn't going to leave the gauntlet at the tower. It was the way she could talk to Gnarl and it was a wand in its own right and it was her purse. It would be foolish to leave it behind.

But then again, she should also wear her breastplate under her robe, Louise decided, putting it on and beginning to fasten up the straps. What if someone attacked her? And maybe she should wear the armoured boots too, because they were very comfortable, made her taller, and were actually wonderfully waterproof. And…

… and this wasn't going to work, she realised half an hour later as she stared at her mostly armoured form in the mirror. All she was really lacking was the helmet. With a sigh, she began to unfasten everything again. Well, maybe not the breastplate. Or the... no, no, no! That would just lead to it again!

An hour and a half later, Louise de la Vallière began the walk down to the tower heart. She was dressed in the same black robe she had worn to Bruxelles. Through the irregular openings in the upper levels she could see that the sun was already higher than she would have liked. She shrugged; at least the magic would mean she had no great distance to go. Just down these endless stairs and through whitewashed halls, past her advisor and...

"My lady? You are clanking slightly."

"... shut up, Gnarl." Inwardly she seethed. One of the biggest reasons for getting away was a day where she wouldn't have to put up with his... his disrespectful helpfulness! Nothing could be that annoying! "And," she added in passing, "I don't want to be followed. If I want help from minions, I'll summon them! I need a day free once in a while, when I've spent days running around swamps trying to find goblins!" When she stepped through the tower heart, she'd be away from all this and this stinking wet cold damp ruin!

Emerging from the portal and blinking in the sudden sunlight, Louise found herself surrounded by small horses. Insofar as an animal barely smarter than sheep could look righteously angry, they looked righteously angry.

"Shoo!" Louise commanded, flapping at them with one hand.

The lead one exhaled and scraped at the ground with a forehoof.

* * *

…

* * *

Fire crackled and roared. Thick white smoke clung to the ground, heavy and cloying.

"You made me do this, ponies!" Louise growled to the charred meat before her. "I didn't want to do this, but you brought it upon yourselves." In her metal boots she stomped away from the burning field, and then – upon careful consideration – ran for it.

As long as she was away from the site of the fire, she could always blame it on a fire dragon. In fact, she'd tell people she'd seen one flying around as she passed them on the road. That'd get rid of any suspicion from her. The perfect cri... perfect act of self-defence against unwarranted aggression from stupid animals!

Plus, they'd provided her with a fair amount of life-energy. Bending down, Louise scooped up the last remaining apple-sized orb of golden light in one hand – or at least did as best she could. It wasn't solid; it was like tar, and stuck to things. She could only see it when she was wearing her gauntlet, and when she touched the sticky light with the magical device, it absorbed it in a way which brought a sharp inhalation to mind. She very carefully didn't think too hard on what that might mean.

Whistling to herself, happy to be out in the summer warmth – which was a little too warm in her robe and armour, which she really should have thought of – Louise de la Vallière set off down the road. It was perhaps a kilometre or two from the woods where the stone circle had been to the walls of the towns of Loven, and along the way she made sure to tell everyone she passed about the dragon.

"... what, another one?" The burly merchant in the hat swore. "Sorry milady, but those youngsters said they'd dealt with it! They had a dragon of their own, you know, and they said they'd killed that earth dragon good!"

Louise coughed, and blinked. "It was a fire dragon," she said. "It set ponies on... on fire."

The man sucked in a breath. "Two dragons in such a short time? That's awful bad luck. You better tell the town council, milady; they'll want to know about this!" He shook his head. "I better move on quick, while it eats, I think!"

... well, at least he believed her. Louise put the incident out of mind as she made her way across the stone bridge and through the gates to the market town. With open eyes, she noted the barges making their way down the river and through the town, laden down with goods.

And it was certainly a market town. Brightly coloured stalls were everywhere, and the clamour and cry of human voices filled the air. Compared to Bruxelles this place may have been diminutive, but it also didn't smell as bad and the air was cleaner. And there were stalls with food on, and she could have proper food again!

The dark lady squinted at one stall in particular, and stroked her chin. Yes. She should use the chance to have as much proper soft cheese as she could, because it wouldn't keep well if she bought it back. She had missed good soft cheeses so very much; the one the minions made from rat's milk was both bland and hard. Which she hadn't suspected, given it was... well, made from rats, but there you go.

* * *

…

* * *

Walking through the town, Louise de la Vallière did not forget her mission, and so she made several notes. The very-nearly-the-first-after-a-few-minor-things thing she did was to make her way to the place where, according to the notes, the taxes were secretly being stored. It was a solid, heavy squat stone building which, if the sign on it was to be believed, was where windstones were stored. Well, that would certainly explain such heavy construction, the girl thought. And the cheek; the Mott crest was on the building! There were guards all around the building, on the roof and at the windows and door, which prevented her from having a closer look. But it was certainly a place where taxes could be stored.

She paused, and nodded. Yes, that made even more sense, because next to it was an anchorage-point for windships. Clearly the Council would have the taxes moved by windship, and if they did it stealthily, no one would ever know they had been moved. Which... she smiled to herself... possibly even suggested that they might not want to admit they had been stolen – indeed, as a bunch of traitors, they were almost certainly skimming off the top of the funds! And probably the bottom of the funds too, and a bit off the sides! Or maybe even just keeping them all for themselves.

After all, they were all a bunch of traitorous curs who leapt into bed with women when their fiancé was less than a season dead and who would be grievously punished like the dogs they were! Apart from the woman who was the one whose bed was jumped into, and so was a bi... female dog.

No! The girl pinched herself! She couldn't get angry about that! She had to think clearly, and rationally, and sensibly, and so extract revenge properly! Like by... oooh, a mooring with the de Mott crest on it, next to a similarly marked warehouse! That made a lot more sense! Yes, if she sent the minions in to loot and pillage that, it would be a righteous punishment rather than theft, and thus acceptable in the eyes of God. And even if the minions broke things and set the place on fire rather than actually steal things properly, that wouldn't matter, because _it would still be righteous punishment_.

The girl began to chuckle to herself, the laughter echoing strangely out of her dark cowl.

"'Ere, what's so funny, lady?" a grubby small child asked her. Their sex was indistinct under all the mud, but it was probably largely academic anyway.

Louise stopped laughing, and instead gave the commoner small child a small coin in return for directions, including to the town hall. Which was apparently undergoing some rather extensive repair work, judging from the cranes and scaffolding and earth mages and... and other such things that were involved in construction work; the girl wasn't too familiar with such things. In lieu of the knowledge of architecture required to determine what had happened, she instead asked the small and dirty child.

"That? That was th'earth dragon," the child said, affecting what it probably thought was a scholarly tone. "It was all snaky and big and armoured and it crawled through the streets and it ate Willy's dog and Doug's..."

"Other people have mentioned the dragon," Louise said, not particularly caring about the prattling of the child and thus tuning it out once that had turned out to be just that. "You can go now."

"It was _so awesome,_" the child said, gesturing wildly. "It was like 'roar' and then it was 'rat rat rat' as rocks went _everywhere _and then the hero was all like 'oh, dark dragon, terrible force of evil, I shall defeat you with the power of the rose, the most beautiful of all the flowers, in the name of truth, justice, love, hope, beauty, and the rose', and when it was paying attention to him the other dragon was like 'woosh' and then there was wind and fire everywhere and then he did this like super-duper-amazing-awesome-mega thing where he..."

"Go away, small child," Louise said, barely listening. "Here, take this denier and stop bothering me." She was rather more occupied with working out how to get into the town hall. The flag of Tristain was at full mast, which meant that a meeting was going on, and if she could listen in, she could get away with it. Nobles could always attend town council meetings; that was the law. Argh! Curse her need to be in disguise! She was Louise de la Vallière, a daughter of one of the highest noble families in the country, and if she could just declare who she was, they'd almost certainly let her in. But that would ruin everything!

"Gnarl," she whispered. "Can you hear me? Can you think up a plan to help me get into the meeting without having to give my name or... or being suspicious?"

"_Well, I recommend that you start by sneakily setting someone or something on fire,_" Gnarl advised. "_Once you do that, there will be a distraction, and so you will be able to get through without any real problems at all._"

"I could do that," Louise muttered into her gauntlet, an idea having come to mind – which she was sure was less stupid than setting something on fire as a distraction, "or I could instead do this." And with that said, she marched right up to the guard at the door. "Peasant!" she snapped. "You! Get that door open immediately!"

There was a slapping noise from the gauntlet, almost as if an elderly minion had just hit itself in the face with one hand. For his part, the guard straightened up. "Milady," he said, "I'm afraid I don't..."

Louise puffed herself up to her full height, and glared down – well, up – her nose at the man. "Excuse me? Excuse me!" she snapped. "Why are you not already opening the door, commoner? What cheek! Don't you know who I am?"

The man flinched. "I'm sorry, milady," he said, flinching, "but... well, the orders say that..."

"I should have you flogged! You impudent dog! Where are your superiors? If you don't let me on right now, I swear on all that is holy, you won't be able to sit down for a week! No, a month! No, a..."

There was a small clonk as the guard saluted so hard he gave himself a small concussion. "Right away my lady, I'll get the door for you," he said quickly. "Sorry mightily for the rudeness and I'm sorry so sorry very sorry milady sorry."

Louise sniffed. "Adequate. Barely," she said, gliding through.

"_There was a peculiar lack of fire for you_" Gnarl said, a trifle disappointed. "_Are you feeling all right, my lady?_"

* * *

…

* * *

"... and so that's decided," the mayor said, leaning forward. "We will have the flower girls throw garlands over the Count de Mott _before _he formally enters the town, thus avoiding the small problem which might be caused by the problem with the cesspit near the entrance."

The lady Emmanuelle ran her hands through her long blonde hair. "It's perfect," she declared, ignoring the clatter as a black-robed noble entered and sat down at the back. "Please do try to arrive on time; I made sure the fliers were printed _personally _and that they were all delivered," she said, a touch snappishly. "I do believe that we will certainly win the Town of the Year award for how we will impress the Count de Mott!" she added, clutching her hands to her bosom.

There was a muttered apology from the robed figure, and attention moved to the matter of the order in which the drinks would be served, and whether it might be a good idea to – at the last moment, raising the cost notably, as someone pointed out – buy more wine from some of the river traders.

However, the peaceful process of minor bureaucracy was interrupted twice. First, hammering started up on the roof, repairing the tarpaulin-covered hole which the men were working _triple time _to repair. And then almost as soon as that had stopped, an elderly woman burst through the door. "Evil!" she shrieked. "Evil has come! Doom is upon us all! We are doomed! Dooooooomed!"

"Oh, Founder," muttered Baron Joplain, "it must be Watersday. The countess is here."

Everyone on the town council wrinkled their noses at the sight of the elderly lady, who appeared to have half a bee nest in her hair, and whose mantle was smeared with bird poo. She may have been the wealthiest woman in the area who owned most of the surrounding woods – and the town, for that matter, though that was something they tried not to mention – but she was also madder than a mercury-addicted manufacture of head-warmers. "I have talked to the birds of the forest, and the fish of the rivers, and the deer of the fields, and the cows, also of the fields," she began, in a cracked old voice, "and they all tell my familiar the same thing! There is a great _eeeeeeevil_ rising in the land!"

The mayor cleared his throat. "A what?" he asked.

"An evil!" the old lady repeated, hoping that multiple exclamation marks would adequately take the place of elongation of the word. "Goblin tribes are raiding through the forests, and the birds say that they have roamed across the land, pillaging and stealing. The rats of the city say that they even have infiltrated the capital itself, spreading vileness and horror wherever they go!"

"… are we talking about the same goblins here?" asked the blonde lady Emmanuelle. "Short, smelly and stupid? Madam, goblins cannot infiltrate your average village if the inhabitants have a sense of smell, let alone the capital. Please, you're…"

But the old woman was not to be stopped. "And the trolls! They're coming down out of the northern mountains! And orcs maim and slay, bringing their evil magics and their vile hungers and terrible strength with them."

"It's summer. They do that every summer, when the crops are in the field. The roadwardens are meant to warn of them, so that they can be dealt with."

"Bandits disturb the land, and dragons fly overhead, a sight not seen in hundreds of years!"

"Uh… what?" the blonde asked, genuinely bemused. "Yes, we know a bloody dragon attacked the town, pardon my Gallian. Didn't you? And... when you say hundreds of years, if you're going to be like that, didn't the Dragon Knights put on a demonstration at the spring festival?"

"Maybe she's getting upset that a bunch of schoolchildren with their own dragon went and stopped the earthwyrm," the portly man suggested. "Countess, they were _on our side_."

"I think she has been feasting a little too heavily on the mushrooms of the forest," said the elderly councilman with snow white hair, to laughter. "Esmeraulde, you are embarrassing yourself and us. If you cannot stop with this… insanity, we will have to keep you away from the fete. We simply cannot have you making a fool of yourself in front of the Count de Mott, because that will look very bad. Very bad indeed."

"The forces of Darkness and Evil are on the move!" the old woman shrieked. "Already, tales are spreading of servant of the crown left callously discarded by the side of the road like used meat by… a great servant of darkness. Possibly even… a lord over darkness! The evil that stalks the land hungers for virtues and souls, and will not rest until all is defiled by its unclean touch, I'm telling you this!"

One of the audience members leapt to her feet. "That's not what happened!" a young girl protested – it was the one who had arrived late, in the black robe. The mayor did not approve of children nowadays, with their sombre black clothes and their tight breaches and their practice of dangerous dances like ballet, but he held his peace. "All that happened was that that... that she... that she, yes, some dark evil lady... took someone hostage for a short while! And then she released her, after putting her in a sack."

There were chuckles from some of the male members of the audience. "That's now what I heard," one of them, a red-faced gentleman in a broad hat said. "But you're probably too young to understand, little girl."

"Too young?" the black-robed girl snapped back.

"You don't want to know what evil women can be like; haven't you read the sermons of Pope Aegis X," a clergyman said. "They have dreadful wiles, yes. And from what I heard, the poor girl was left nearly naked when she was abandoned by the side of the road, after the terrible dark lady stripped her and – no doubt – did all kinds of terrible things." He adjusted his somewhat steamed-up glasses. "Decency prevents me from going into any further details," he added.

There was a noise not dissimilar to steam escaping from a kettle from the young girl.

"Please, please," the clergyman gestured. "Restrain your righteous anger. The ways of evil are many and detailed, and it is best that you remain ignorant of them, least you be drive to go and seek vengeance for them... and so fall into the very trap which Evil sets. Indeed, has it not been said that..."

The man in the hat tapped the priest on the shoulder. "She already marched out," he said.

The priest shook his head. "I will pray for her soul, such that she not find the evil she looks for," he said. "If such evil is already manifest, a young noble like herself will, at best, be traumatised by the horrors of evil women who – it is said – dress like men and cut their hair short and other such sinful things. At worst, she will begin to acquire their ways, and be drawn into temptation."

"I told you there was evil in the land!" the countess Emmanuelle cackled, the motion dislodging some bees from her hair. "Beware! Beware! Beware of the evil!"

The mayor sounded his gavel. "Order, order!" he commanded. "Now, now. There... there might have been an isolated incident of some petty dark figure attacking a lone woman, but... but that kind of thing happens everywhere! That's a dreadful shame, of course, and so we should set more guards to patrolling, but in the meantime, I think we should _keep quiet _about such things," he said meaningfully. "We do want to win the Town of the Year award, after all! Now, the Count de Mott will be arriving – in disguise, as is his way – some time late tomorrow, when the party is already underway. He said he wants to enjoy that, before he formally is welcomed to the town on the day after tomorrow, and..."

"The evil walks among us! It lurks in shadows and..."

"Please, countess, be quiet."

* * *

…

* * *

Shadows loomed long in the cavernous – albeit whitewashed – darkness of the throne room. Monstrous creatures played in the corners. In the pools of light cast by sulphurous torches, their true hideousness could be seen, as well as the fact that they really would put anything they could find on their heads.

Sprawled on the throne was a dark and evil figure clad in dark and evil steel armour, which she wore darkly and evilly. And in her sinister hand, she had a fork with a small piece of soft cheese impaled on it. With ophidian speed, suddenly it was in her mouth, and the fork was loaded with another piece. The overlady began to chuckle to herself, softly.

Gnarl coughed. "My lady," he said, "you said that you were going to explain the plan, and then got distracted by eating cheese."

Louise unhooked her leg from the arm of her throne, and sat up. "Do you know how wonderful it is to be wearing armour which isn't like a skirt?" she said, cheerfully. "I can sprawl! I can do things like sit sideways on a chair and not have to worry about immodesty! It's wonderful! How dare men keep this secret from women! I should go... go get myself a pair of tights and hosiery to wear, even when I'm not dressed like this!"

"Your evilness," Gnarl pleaded.

"Mmm?" Louise asked, with her mouth full.

"The plan?"

"Mmmm. Mmmph mmph," she swallowed. "Oh yes. That." She coughed. "Oh, it's pretty simple. To start off, I'll need a barge, and... yes, if at all possible, one carrying alcohols, or maybe flour. Or large crates. And we'll need to get the coach out, and... where did you put my horses?"

"In horse-cupboard!" Maggat contributed from his position lounging by base of her throne.

"... right. Well. Um. If they're alive... what even is a horse-cupboard? No, I don't want to know! If they're alive, get them out, otherwise steal some more!" Louise's expression, such that could be seen under her helmet, turned grim, and she viciously impaled another cube of cheese. "And," she said, sticking it in her mouth, "they armph all goinmph to paym for this indimipy. The' wilp rue the damp dey ever crosmph..." she swallowed, "the day they ever crossed me and spread vile scurrilous rumours and laughed at me in public and nudged each other and... in fact, there's going to be so much ruing around I'll have to make sure to spare some for the Count de Mott!"

She paused.

"Also, there is going to be pillaging, plundering, and other words I can't think of right now which also start with a 'p'. Because they are going to pay!"

There was celebration from the minions.

"That pretty good play on words there," Maximilian observed, "using two meaning of word 'pay'. Also, 'piracy' word that start with... oww!"

Maggat hit him over the back of the head again. "Less wordiness, more cheering!" he hissed.

* * *

…


	11. Part 3-3

_"Tell your serving girls to pick four purple basil leaves, a sprig of rosemary, fresh Gallian mint, and four olives from trees imported at great expense from Romalia. Send that handsome and limber serving boy down into the ice cellar to recover mandarin liqueur from the Mystic East, and ice-distilled spirits from Rus. Fetch a bottle of gin from your private collection which only you have the key for – I recommend one of the thirteen remaining bottles from the Black Abbey of Tolou. Have your scantily clad serving girls mix the drinks, in a ratio of five parts mandarin to three part Rusean spirits to one part gin, while your alchemist crushes the herbs and rubs them over the surface of the olives, and then adds powdered windstone to give it fizz. _

_Strain into a glass through whale baleen, add ice, and then drink."_

– "11 Highly Decadent Drinks and 23 Rather More Boring Ones", by the comte de Mott 

* * *

...

* * *

From afar, the walls of the town blazed with light in the late evening. Lanterns hung from bunting, and long crimson draperies nearly reached the ground. The rattle of coaches and the hoofsteps of horses – not to mention the grumbling of coach drivers and manservants – filled the air around the traffic jam by the gates. Nobles and merchant-commoners were coming from all the surrounding market towns and villages, for the start of the midsummer festival.

An old woman watched the coaches rattle their way in through the town gates. Ancient gnarled hands gripped her walking stick tightly, knuckles whitening and hands shaking. Finally she could take no more.

"Doom! Doom! Doom has come to the town! Even now it walks among us, veiled and disguised!" wailed the countess, who had been cleaned up – something which had evidently not removed the cobwebs from her mind. She jabbed a finger into the crowd. "There! A demon walks among us! Beware!"

"That's my cousin!" the lady Emmanuelle said, sounding highly offended. "Are you blind, countess? He might have Albionese blood, but that doesn't make him a demon!"

"For goodness sake," the mayor sighed, "where is her medicine? We cannot have a repeat of the last time she had one of her... uh, little incidents. And..." he trailed off, as he went to greet more noble guests arriving in carriages. "Ah, Madam de Moulession! So good to see you at this little festival! And..." he trailed off, "I'm sorry, mademoiselle," he hazarded, "I don't recognise you, but that is a very scary costume for a little girl!"

"I'm in disguise," the short woman in armour said, her painted-red lips visibly smiling under her shadowed helmet.

"And a very good costume it is," he said genially. "Why, it's much better that the people who are just wearing masques! Who are you meant to be? No, wait, don't spoil it! It's much more fun if I can find out on my own! My, my, my, that's..."

"I'm sorry," the young woman said, "but I'm meant to be meeting a friend here. But if you want to guess who I am... uh, the invite did say there was a grand unmasking, didn't it? You will see me there..."

Honesty demands that the way that last sentence was said was perhaps a trifle melodramatic, and that the mysterious lady was smirking. And the mayor missed it entirely.

"Ah yes, of course, of course..." the mayor turned, recognising an old friend, "Oh, Lord de Penetion, you're a very dashing wolf!"

In the noise and hubbub, the short woman slipped away, and her freshly repainted coach – driven by a short, smelly coachman swaddled in robes and blankets despite the heat – rolled off, into the town.

* * *

...

* * *

The coach-park was a clearly designated area. A field outside the walls had been set aside for the coaches and horses noble guests had brought with them. And hence the fact that the mysterious armoured guest's coach was going into the town was something which was not meant to be happening. It was entirely against the rules.

However, that didn't seem to stop the perfectly ordinary human driving the coach from not following the clearly marked signs – which had symbols as well as writing, in case of illiterate drivers. Instead, he made his way along the narrow streets behind the walls, and only got very slightly totally lost. Fortunately, the perfectly ordinary human children in the coach behind him were always there to shout insults, curses, and occasionally useful suggestions.

The coach rattled into place, stopping in front of the squat building which, allegedly, the taxed wealth was being stored in. A windship was anchored beside the building, moored to its mast, but its lights were off and no crew could be seen from this angle – quite unlike the guards who were present around the solid stone structure. An astute observer would have noticed that the mere presence of guards in such force during a holiday suggested that something of notable value was being kept inside the building; it was a dead giveaway. However, the coachman was not an astute observer, and was merely doing what he was told to do.

It should also be noted that the one who had been doing the telling _had _been astute enough to realise that, and so had told the coachdriver that if there were still guards around, it was a sign that the treasure was probably in there. And if it wasn't _that _treasure in there but instead some other one, it was still to be looted. The teller had then sighed, and realised that she had not needed tell that to the coachdriver and his compatriots. It was a given.

Finally, the coils of the local polity ground into motion as one of the guards outside the building stepped promptly up to the coach. "'ello, 'ello, 'ello," he said in greeting. "You really 'ave to be moving along, sir."

The coachman adjusted the scarf – worn despite the heat – around his neck with one gloved hand, and coughed. "But I told to go here," he protested.

"That doesn't change things. Move on, up the way, and then we'll talk."

The driver grumbled under his breath, but complied. The coach rolled to a stop past the solid stone structure, and the driver cleared his throat. "So, why me not allowed to park there?" he asked.

"Rules," the guard said, with a shrug. "'ey, aren't you lot meant to be parking outside the town?"

"Oh." The coach driver shrugged. "But me got a bunch of real sick orphans in here. They got to be attending the parties!"

The guard twitched the curtains open.

"Yeah! We real ill!"

"Cough! Splutter! Wheeze!"

"Oh, the huge seal!"

"Vampires ate mah babies! I mean parents!"

And indeed, the coach was packed with perfectly ordinary, albeit somewhat pungent human children. That was to be expected, because as all men knew, the death of one's parents produced a strange odour around a child – and while those uppity philosophers at Amstelredamme might have said it was poverty, real men knew that it was a sign of something much more sinister. He squinted at the seated man. "Why'd a bunch of orphans..."

"They part of entertainment, silly!"

With a clanking of metal, the guard relaxed. Yes, that made far more sense. "Oh, well, in that case, you'll want to be 'eading towards the supplies and requisitioning bay."

"Oh. Man at gate tell I I meant to go here. He have fancy hat and chain, so I not argue."

The guard sucked on his teeth. If the major had order this... well, it was more than a man's job to argue with this sort of thing. "Right, right, then if it's 'is orders, you'll need to park in the bay on the other side of the street," he said, puffing up his chest. "This is a secure location, and that means that even 'e can't do that."

The coachman slumped, hand going into his clothing to recover a bottle. "Boss men," he sighed, pulling a swig. "They so stupid. I work for real stupid v... man until few months ago. He real bloodsucker, never give us holidays even when he should have. And work us to bones."

"You said it," the guard agreed, leaning on his pole. "I ask you, is it fair that I 'ave to go guard this place during the festival, and so don't get any time off. And they say that they're going to let me have a day off later this week, but that'll be when the party's over, and that's not fair! That's not fair at all."

"Want drink?" the coachdriver said, in the spirit of the commiseration of the proletariat which had been occurring.

"Don't mind if I do!" the man replied cheerfully.

Maggat hit him over the head with the bottle as hard as he could, which put an end to any later conversation. The minion hazarded a look behind him, but the now-unconscious-and-covered-in-cheap-wine guard was out of sight. "Right lads," he hissed, "get all of you out! Stick him in alley and loot him. And 'member, we nice sweet innocent orphans so no killing until we gots all the gold out, or the overlady will be _so _angry at us. And Gnarl will be very upset and that hurt and can last for days until he let you go! So no screwing this up. 'Specially you, Fettid."

The green minion looked up from where he was playing with his newfound sword, having already stolen the guard's helmet. "Huh?"

"... Maxy, Igni, Largo, Bob, Muenchy, if Fettid look like he going to kill someone when he not meant to and so get us in trouble with overlady or, worse, Gnarl, kill him. When problem go away, than you bring him back, yes?" Maggat sighed. "Less painful for him an' us in long an' short run."

* * *

...

* * *

Steel heels clattered against cobbled streets and a deep red robe swished as Louise de la Vallière stalked through the streets of the town. She was working on keeping calm, so the illusion cast over her glowing eyes would not give her away, even as butterflies flapped in her stomach from the nerves.

"A drink, sweetie?" asked a tall man, dressed in elaborately lavish clothing and a cat mask. From what she could see of the lower half of his face, he had the style of immaculately trimmed moustache in style at court at the moment, not a hair out of place. That, combined with the cut and set of his clothing, indicated that he was not a gentleman from this backwater.

... well, on one hand, that was an aggressively improper action, to introduce one's self in such a manner to a woman. But on the other hand, this was a masked party, and thus the normal rules were relaxed. But on the third hand, or possibly on a foot, she didn't appreciate being called 'sweetie' in that manner. And on the fourth hand, he did look to be fairly handsome, in a somewhat primped manner – like what Scarron seemed to be going for and overshot in his demonic way – and she was feeling somewhat hot in this armour during the summer night. So she accepted the drink.

"Thank you very much," she said graciously, and forced herself to titter. "I am somewhat regretting this costume; who could have thought that it would be this hot!"

"Oh, quite so, quite so." The man looked her up and down, and Louise repressed the sudden small spike of irritation which left her wanting to set him on fire. "Perhaps, for the next party, you might want to leave off some of the unnecessary bits – I'm sure you're gorgeous under that breastplate, and there's no need to cover your figure in metal like that. It'd certainly be cooler to wear."

Louise de la Vallière, who was quite aware that her breastplate was doing clever things with angles and shaped metal and curves to make it worthy of the name did not respond to that. "I like your cat mask," she said, trying to change the topic.

"Oh, la! This isn't a cat _mask_, per se; indeed, it's not actually a cat," he replied, with a light-hearted chuckle, the two of them walking side by side through the thronging streets. "As a matter of fact, it's the skinned face of a great cat from Ind, imported through Rub al Khali. Papier-mâché is so passé, you know? It's so very dull here... from your accent, you're a proper noble, yes, not some backwater merchant whose blood is more dilute than the wine they're serving here?"

The girl nodded. It was hard to get more noble than her, and that was a statement of fact. Something inside her stomach shifted; she was unsure whether it was pride or embarrassment from how often the de la Vallière name had appeared in the books back at the tower pinned to both heroes and villains. Mostly the latter, it had to be said. But it was something!

"Well, yes, hmm," he continued, dropping his voice. "I have to say, so far it's been a disappointment here. This festival is..." he affected a yawn, "... boring. Drinks and fire-jugglers and dancing, oh my. And I do have to say that the most beautiful women here are the ones I bought with me... oh, thank you, my sweetling," he said to a masked woman wearing about three handkerchiefs'' worth of material. She looked more than a little cold, even in the summer air. "Although from what I can see of you under that armour, you have more than a little promise about you! Your costume is actually interesting, novel, quite unlike these backwater provincials with their shaped paper and painted wood." He sighed melodramatically. "And that armour and its curves make so many promises that I long to see if are true! I really like the heels. I mean, _really _like them."

Louise's cheeks were ablaze. Hopefully he couldn't see that from what little of her face was exposed, but the lecherous look in his eyes suggested a certain awareness of such things, drat him! Men! They were terrible! Montmorency's complaints back at the Academy, in the long long ago of a few months, now made even more sense. "Th-thank you, sir," she stuttered, when a thought struck her. "I'm s-sorry, I've been at school, out of contact for the last few months, and you s-sound so worldly and the like. Do you know what the current tales at court are?"

The man in the cat mask smiled lazily, and chuckled to himself, as if she had said something hilarious. "Oh, certainly," he said. "In fact, it could be said that I am one of the most informed men there is about the deeds at court. I know who's involved with whom, and all sorts of things." He reached out with one gloved hand, but she stepped back, and forced herself to smile.

"It is just... well, I had heard rumours that... that the Viscount de Vajours, Jean-Jacques de Wardes... well, I heard that his fiancé had died tragically, and... well... he's so..." she forced out, drawing upon how she had used to feel, "... so very brave and heroic what with everything that's going on, and... well, I was wondering if... if you knew if he was involved with anyone?" She took a sip of the drink he had given her. It really was very good quality wine.

He smiled broadly. "How adorably naive," he said. "Yes, after the death of his fiancé, the poor man was just broken. He hasn't got any formal arrangements, but," the man paused, "... well, so that you don't get your sweet little hopes up, rumour has it that he is courting Françoise Athénaïs de Mortemart, marquise of Montespan."

Louise let her shoulders slump – and it wasn't entirely false. This was confirmation from someone at court, not just a demon. It wasn't that she had harboured that hope that maybe Scarron had been lying or wrong about that; it was just that... well. Never mind. "Well, th-thank you, sir," she said. "I am afraid I have to go see a friend who I am meant to be meeting, but I may see you again later." Not if she could help it, but it was the polite thing to say. "Good evening."

"So soon?" he asked, perching on the edge of the fountain. "But I was enjoying your adorable conversation."

"I really have to go, really really!" she squeaked, darting off into the crowd and dropping her glass in her haste. And the reason for the change in her behaviour was that she had seen a familiar brown-haired, red-ribboned head. Which meant that she had to get out of sight.

Heart pounding, Louise ducked around the corner! What was she doing here? What was that filthy-minded, indecent, improper, unrighteous female doing at this festival? Just because she had been going here anyway... when she had been attacked by a dark force of Evil, she should have gone back home in tears, not hanging around! And she'd be able to recognise that Louise was not actually wearing a costume, but was instead – in a purely technical sense – a dark force of evil coming to loot and despoil.

She had wasted enough time already. She had to do what she needed to do, and then it wouldn't matter if people recognised her as an overlady. Looting canapés and a fresh drink as she went, Louise de la Vallière went down the streets to the river, in a search for her destination quayside.

* * *

...

* * *

The pack of minions scrambled up onto the rooftop, their long, ape-like arms aiding them in their climb. Some of them were trailing heavy packs and equipment, removed from the cart.

There were guards on the roof.

And then fairly quickly, after the small group of greens led by Fettid had done their work, there were no guards left. Well, maybe there were. It all depended on one's precise philosophical position _vis a vis _the nature of death and whether a man who had had several smelly goblins stick poisoned blades into painful points of his body and cut his throat still counted as a man. But alas, with no concrete empirical evidence on the nature of personhood and death – well, unless you went and asked a necromancer, and they were shifty bastards a little too fond of dead bodies, to a man and woman – all that could be said was that there were lots of corpses on the rooftop, which got promptly looted.

"We pretty sneaky, all in all," Scyl said in a satisfied tone. The blue was perched on top of the ledge, wrapped in his black cape. It was only ruined a little by the girl's bonnet he was wearing. "Now?"

Maxy nodded. "Now is stage two of plan," he said. "Sneaky like little mices, we make hole in roof with pick-axes."

"An', I would like to say," Maggat added, "anyone one of you who make too much noise – 'specially the ones who haven't been all sneaky-like before – is going to taste my fist. And I bigger than most of you and the overlady say I do good job, so we got that clear?"

The other minions gulped.

"Now," he continued, "Igni, get them fireworks set up. The mistress want to know when we find gold. And..."

Scyl interrupted him. "Hey, Maggat? You think there gold on ship?" he said, pointing at the unlit windship.

"I think we not paid to think right now, so we need to find gold before overlady get angry and set us on fire," the brown said brusquely. He paused for a moment. "But I also think that if we get chance, we should take little looky inside, and take stuff. It like bonus..." he concentrated, "... ob-jar-sive on mission, and as we know, if overlady happy because of us, she reward us. It called 'carrot and stick'. If you do bad, she only give you carrot as weapon, but if you do well, she give you stick. Maybe even with nail in it."

"I not think that actually how saying goes," the luckless Maxy tried, before he was hit around the head, and presented with a pick-axe.

"Just for that, you start by digging first," Maggat growled. "That was po-etical thinkin'."

* * *

...

* * *

Silently, lights extinguished and the bodies of the original crew disposed of overboard, a river barge drifted into the dock. Warehouses and high fences helped hide this area from the streets, keeping things out of sight and out of mind. The dark figures manning it, shrouded in stolen too-large sailor costumes, kept remarkably quiet as they helped paddle the vessel in the final approach, aided by blue shapes in the water helping push. And as they expected, a steel-armoured figure was waiting for them.

Light bobbing over his head, Gnarl looked up at his dark mistress, long shadows painted over his face. "Ah, my lady," he said. "Everything went as planned. The hold is packed with minions, ready to plunder and pillage, and you merely need to move the construction equipment here," he nodded towards the next dock along, where the skeletal shapes of the cranes were waiting to be moved from where they had done their work, "and we will take it downstream and back through to the tower." Even as he said that, a horde of small, smelly goblinoids was ready and unloading itself from the barge.

"Good work, Gnarl," Louise said.

"For Evil," he said, half-bowing.

The girl left him behind, waving the assigned minions forward to the warehouse by the docks she had seen on her exploration. A gesture, and they swarmed onto the two guards by the entrance; clearly, the guard was reduced here because of the party. A bit of her disliked killing... being responsible for killing men like this, but they were working for the comte de Mott. By Brimiric law, that meant they were traitors. Or, at least, they would be when she rescued Princess Henrietta, restored her to her rightful place, and they had all the Council declared guilty of treason.

But the point remained, even if they weren't _technically _traitors yet, they were traitors who had only avoided righteous justice so far because the head of the royal courts was among their corrupt number. Which made it morally acceptable... no, it even made it good, because it was always good to punish traitors.

Even as those thoughts ran through her mind and the minions bickered over the muskets – and wasn't that enough proof of the corruption of the comte de Mott, that he could afford to equip warehouse guards with muskets? – she marched over to the doors. Her attempts to throw them open were stymied by the fact that they were locked, but luckily she had the universal lock pick known as 'lots of minions'.

"Now," Louise said, smiling with malevolent intent, "if you will notice – as I did when exploring this town – the trading house here owned by the comte de Mott specialises in moving certain volatile oils and perfumes up river for the trade with Germania. This is a very profitable affair, because as we all know Germanians have a poor sense of personal hygiene and eat too much pickled sausage, and so will pay a lot for good perfume. Which means that this warehouse has, as I expected, no small amount of stock present. Now," she said, "who can tell me what that means?"

There was general confusion among the minions.

"Stock is what you put in water to make soup," one wearing a chef's hat contributed. "I eat one cube of it. It nice, but need beer to wash it down. Or wine."

"Is 'profiterole' something to do with priestys?" another asked.

Once again, Louise observed, she had overestimated her audience. Especially since she had needed to send the brighter, and almost universally older minions out for the other tasks she had set them, which left her with the ones which were dumb by minion standards. Which was also coincidentally dumb by the standards of, say, sheep. Or mould on cheese.

Not ponies, though. Few things were more stupid than ponies. Dumb things that wouldn't leave her alone in peace and quiet. So she had to set them on fire! For their own g... no, that wasn't true. For her own good, at least, which was a rather more compelling reason than whatever a bunch of stupid animals wanted.

"I mean," she said, with a weary sigh, "that it is full of things which will burn nicely when we set it on fire." She paused.

"Uhh, you mean..."

She downgraded again, just in case. "Burny happens?" she hazarded.

"Big burny?"

"... yes," the girl said, momentarily reflecting on how months of exposure to normal minions had done marvels for her patience. Once, she would have got furious at such egregious stupidity. But getting angry at minions for being stupid was much like getting angry at water for being wet. Something she only did once in a while, when it was more irritation than she could cope with right now or it got in her way. The rest of the time, it was sort of the background state of the world, and it would be jolly silly if she went around shouting at random rivers for their dampness.

She gestured with the gauntlet, curling her fingers and drawing the minions – who were already starting to look vandalism-inclined – back to her. "But the fire comes later," she ordered. "Now, that we have confirmed that the perfumes are here, first we will need to go to the next quay along and move the construction equipment onto the barge. And you need to get it done before the other ones get the fireworks set off, or I will have you all flogged. And I also won't let you watch the fire. And I will _personally _oversee the confiscation of looted equipment from those who fail me!"

* * *

...

* * *

The red moonlight streamed in down through the narrow hole cut in the roof. There was the squeaking of a wheel, and the light was momentarily blotted out as something small and remarkably pungent was lowered down. Muttered voices and the momentary flash of a dark lantern were lost under the noise from the streets below.

"Lower," the whisper came. "Come ons, you slackers."

The wheel squeaked again. "You can see it, Fettid?" one of the cranking figures asked.

Lantern light revealed itself from the hole, dancing over the inside of the solid stone building. "Yes," the green hissed back up. The light shone upon gold bars and solid crates. "Shinies are there."

"Right," the largest shadowy figure at the crank said, "we do what the Overlady said the plan was. Fettid, you grabs one bar at a time, and we crank you up. Igni?"

"Yep?" another figure said, standing by a collection of tubes. There was a small pop, as it lit a flame on the end of one of its fingers.

"Make sky-boom happens and mistress know we find gold for her."

"Oh yay," the other figure said gleefully, lowering its burning finger towards the end of the tubes.

There was a crackle, and a whoosh, as four rockets shot up into the sky, their exhausts coincidentally setting their igniter on fire. That did not seem to phase him, however, as he "oooh'd" and "aaah'd" at the explosions in the sky.

Which was only matched by the thunderous detonation elsewhere in the town, by the river. A fireball blossomed in the night, rising up in a oily belch of flames. In the general consensus of the now-very-drunk townfolk, it was pretty, although all the alarm bells and running guards was a bit of a party pooper.

* * *

...

* * *

See! It's now two days after "two days ago". We caught up with the _in media res _section from the chapter before last. And it's funny that we're talking about things catching up, because appropriately the narrative attention is shifted over to Louise de la Vallière, who was stood by the gleefully burning, very nice smelling wreckage of the warehouse owned by the comte de Mott. Against the fires, she was a dark silhouette, her eyes patches of glowing light shining out from under her helmet. In the inferno, flaming goblins ran and played in the heat, throwing even more fire around and generally having the most fun that they had enjoyed in years. Down the river, a barge floated, laden down with plundered construction equipment, and manned by a minion crew.

Decency prevents one from observing that the dark lady was cackling.

She was, however, interrupted by a cry of "My warehouse!" from a tall, muscular man wearing a cat-mask, who – despite panting from lack of breath – nevertheless managed to properly cast a spell which had water rise up from the river to control the volatile blaze.

"Oh," Louise said. Then, "Oh. _Oh. Oooooh._"

She grinned. My, this _was _a wonderful party, no two ways about it. Softly, she chanted to herself. A ball of fire popped into existence in her hand, concealed behind her back. "My goodness," she said, advancing on the mage – the comte de Mott – slowly. "Whatever could have happened, s..."

"You!" The jet of water collapsed as the man spun and pointed his wand at her. "You! You did this! You're evil! It's not a disguise at all, is it! The mark of evil is in your eyes!"

Ah. The eyes. Yes. She must have got excited at some point and broken the illusion.

Drat.

* * *

...


	12. Part 3-4

_Fire. According to some, it is the most evil of all the elements. Some people think that just because a vast number of evil overlords use fire as their primary element and the infernal Abyss burns with dark flame, fire is somehow wrong. Nothing could be further from the truth! Why, I burn heretics and sinners and witches and schismatics and the undead and the damned and the Evil and demons and werewolves and wingéd men and blasphemers and children who disrespect their parents and individuals who work on sacred rest days and orcs and goblins and warlocks and water spirits and minotaurs and dragons and manticores and great cats and flying serpents from the Mystic East and the like to death – or sometimes to re-death – every day! And so fulfil the sacred work of Good! To speak out against the sacred element of Fire is no less than blasphemy!_

– Saint Pyrene of Pompeia

* * *

...

* * *

Fires burned in the night. The perfume warehouse was a bonfire which put lesser celebrations to shame, a pillar of flame which radiated raw heat. And on the street by it stood two figures. One of them; short, armoured in dark steel and robed in blood-red, held a ball of unnaturally pink fire in her left hand. And the other, wearing a cat-mask, had to throw himself out of the way with all possible haste to avoid the fireball, which instead sizzled on by and hit a completely different building.

"Ooops," Louise said. That was what Gnarl had said. Aim for their _feet _when throwing fireballs at people. That way they got caught in the blast radius, and – or so he had claimed – it was highly amusing to watch people dance around with their toes ablaze.

"Marine Arc!"

And then she had to duck under a horizontal slash of blue-green water which whistled at head height. If she had been taller... drat, drat, drat, that man was _fast _with how he got his spells out. She started to chant again, the fireball forming in her hand, but another barked word from the cat-faced man interrupted her flow, as a low-sweeping wave swept her legs out from under her.

All her breath was forced out of her with a whoosh as she hit the ground like an accident in a foundry, and it was only her hurried roll out of the way which avoided its follow up. Rolling over and over, she tried to pull herself up, and felt her stomach muscles scream at the effort.

Something blew up in the warehouse, spraying sweet-smelling burning oil over the street and the nearby houses. The blast knocked her down prone again, and the hot air left her choking. Louise felt the warm patter against her armour and covered the exposed part of her face with a hand. Founder, she was so thankful she wasn't half-naked. So very thankful, she thought as burning oil sloughed off her helmet and pauldrons. She shook herself like a dog, sending small patches of fire to join the ones which already littered the cobbles like grass.

It was uncomfortably hot, the perfumed smoke was horribly to breathe in, and if there was something else which was going to blow up in there, she wanted to be well clear of it. Hopefully the comte de Mott would have perished in the...

There was a hiss of steam, and a jet of water whooshed out through the fire, cutting through the smoke. Fortunately, it did not appear to be aimed at her, or – if it was – the man was not too good a shot. Or was feeling a mite distracted by the fire.

"Vile force of Evil!" the comte cried out. She could see him now; drenched – he'd soaked himself to ward off fire – and singed. "Do you have _any _idea how much this cost? And my warehouse! And my... Crushing Wave!"

Louise saw the oncoming wall of water. This was going to hurt.

And, serendipity! She was right.

* * *

...

* * *

"Ooooh! Pretty boom!" a brown said, staring across the town at the fire-rose blossoming down by the river.

"Get back to work!"

"My arms're tired!"

"Keep crankin', you idiots," Maggat growled, thumping the slacker at the crank, as laden down with gold and sacks of coinage Fettid appeared again, only to be sent down for more.. "If we get the gold out, we can go loot other stuff an' watch the overlady's fires."

Maxy cleared his throat. "Hey, Maggy, maybe it'd help 'em more if I do a song to motivate them."

He was cuffed around the head for his troubles. "You heard Maxy," Maggat said, "if you don't do it faster, he'll start playin' music and then we'll _all _be sufferin'."

With grumbling and a few slaps, Fettel was raised up on his rope, two bags of coins – each one the same size as his torso – in his hands. "That's 'em all!" he chirped up.

"You sure?" Maggat said suspiciously. "You pretty stupid, but I hope you not stupid enough that we get in trouble for leaving gold behind."

"Not lootin' everything you can is against the Minion Code," Maxy agreed.

"Unless orders is orders," Igni said, tongue sticking up as he practiced juggling fireworks.

Maggat shrugged. "Well, yeah. Orders is orders and... Igni, where you get those fireworks? I thought you launch our message ones?"

"Found 'em lying around," the red said with a shrug. "When you was doin' stuff, I sneaky-like went lookin'. I was thinkin' we could set this buildin' on fire afterwards."

"How comes he gets to be a slacker?" one of the browns at the crank asked.

"'Cause he a red, so he puny and not good at liftin'," Maggat growled, "an' also because we lot are older an' more 'perienced than you gobos so we is smarter and better at usin' our in-it-at-ive. And Igni very good at findin' boomy stuff."

Igni grinned. "An' I set to a buildin', so we have distraction when gettin' away. Overlady is best mistress or master in years, 'cause she gets how fire is best thing ever for everything."

Maxy pursed his lips. "Well, I think we getting distracted. So we just need to get the stuff out, right? So I guess we gotta go take our dirty luck-re out by coach, and then we can go helpsie the Overlady."

Scyl stirred himself from where he was gazing out over the city. As one of the blue-skinned variety of his kin, his intellect – such as such a thing might be said to apply to a non-Gnarl minion – was even less focussed than the other varieties, and as a result, often wandered. "Maggat," he said slowly, "I thinks they took our coach and our horsies. They tied their leggsies together with iron bars and then dragged them away because it was," and he focussed, "parked ill eagle lie."

Maggat glowered, stomping over to check. "But we didn'ts park it on any sick birds," he muttered. "You was meant to be watching the coach, Scyl!"

"I did," the blue objected. "I watch it all the time, until they take it where I can't see it no more. And I no see any sick birds neither."

"Maybe they wasn't very bright," Maxy suggested, drifting over. "What now? If we don't has a coach, the plan's not goin' to work."

The two brown minions' gaze was drawn inevitably towards the nearby moored windship, to be joined a few seconds later by Scyl when he got his mind in gear and into the same frame of reference as the others.

* * *

...

* * *

Wet, mildly singed, and aching from the wave which had slammed her into a wall, Louise de la Vallière pulled herself to her feet, groaning. She had water up her nose. Through clenched teeth, she grated out the words for her fireball spell, igniting a ball above one hand. After a moment's thought, she repeated it, and was gratified to see that she could create a fireball for the other hand too. Why hadn't she bought her staff with her?

Oh yes. Because it was heavy, and she hadn't planned to be fighting anyone. Well, that was a mistake she wasn't going to make again.

Ha. Ha. Ha. And oh Founder that was another wall of water coming and... she exhaled onto one of the fireballs, sending a jet of pink fire out which collided with the wave. She flinched as a hot mist washed over her and condensed against her armour – which was getting uncomfortably hot – but the fire had blunted the main attack.

And her body, which had decided that her mind was being stupid and thinking when it should have been fighting breathed onto the fireball again. The flame rushed out through the mist, adding a pink cast to the firelit vapours, before they were countered by another water spell.

"I'm going to get every last ecu of costs out of your hide!" Mott snarled, in between spells. "You God-damned flirt! Leading a man on like that!"

"I never asked you to pay attention to me!" Louise screamed back as she hurled a fireball overarm at him, smashing a shield of ice and hastily caught by a last-ditch wall of water.

"What did you expect, dressing like that? A man can't control himself when confronted by someone in such interesting armour which promised so much! Evil! Evil!"

So began a duel of fire against water through flames and mist and smoke, tossed by gales and the waves of force when the two of them clashed. Louise didn't know why no one else was intervening, but considering the conditions it was likely that the lesser mages were probably trying to control the warehouse fire – which was spreading rapidly – and commoners simply couldn't fight in these conditions.

She side-stepped an ice-shard, sweating, and retreated again. Step by step she was being forced back down the street, and her lack of magical skill was costing her dear. All she had was this one spell, and the constant salvos of fast-cast dot-ranked spells from the water mage were more than she could handle.

"Pissed!" something hissed at her from a nearby alleyway, which revealed itself to be a small group of minions. "Gnarl say, what taking you so... oh wait, you in fight against boss-man of town, yes?"

"Yes!" Louise snapped, darting into the alleyway.

The brown minion – it wasn't one she thought she recognised – pouted. "No fair! Why you no invite us? If you tell us, we have fun fighty fight!"

Louise screamed in frustration. "Gnarl," she yelled into her gauntlet, "help me out! The comte de Mott is here! Right now!"

"_... no, Licket, put that oar down... oh, your ladyship! Well done! You have found one of your targets!_"

"He's too hard!" Louise hissed, in-between gasping for breath. She could feel the mental fatigue, feel her tiredness which was telling her that she had little willpower for this battle remaining, and the comte de Mott – curse him – was a triangle mage. He could outlast her.

"_Oh, don't worry your Evil little head,_" Gnarl advised. "_He is a dramatic, fated adversary! And that means, like all such beings, he has a critical weak spot. You just need to look for it, and once you have found it… why, defeating him will be triviality itself. Like with fire dragons; when they open their mouth to breath fire, they're vulnerable! As well as their underbelly, of course. Some people might question why a flying lizard which spends a lot of time attacking people on the ground has such an armour-less belly… but then again, dragons are very badly designed creatures. Why else would they be so prone to blowing up when you feed them reds?_"

"That's completely useless advice," Louise screamed, poking her head out only to have to duck a hail of knife-ice shards. "He's a human! Humans don't have convenient weak spots!"

"_Just set fire to his head then,_" her advisor said calmly. "_That should do it._"

"I'm trying to do that! It's not working! He keeps on blocking!"

"_An interesting fact about most creatures smaller than a dragon,_" Gnarl noted, "_is that they tend to have problems concentrating when they're being swarmed by minions. And dragons only really are too stupid to notice that something is beating them in the head with a sharp object. Brain the size of a pea._"

Right. Right. Right. Think, think... yes. If he was shooting at minions, he wouldn't be shooting at her. She glanced over the six minions in the alley... four brown-skinned, and two horned reds. And they were the even-less-competent type, because they hadn't acquired the festoonery of weaponry and random junk which the more experienced ones seemed to have.

... it was pretty strange that sticking a pumpkin on its head seemed to make a minion brighter, but Louise wasn't going to argue with results. Even if they were stupid results.

"Right!" she ordered the minions. "Reds, stay here in cover, and hurl fireballs at the comte de Mott when he's not looking at you! When he's looking at you, hide. Annoy him and distract him... and yes, set his head on fire! Browns, follow me!" She paused. "I mean, browns, go out ahead of me!"

No point in sticking her head out first. And in case they needed any extra motivation, she added, "If you kill him, you'll get to keep his clothes as loot! And wear them, or do whatever else you want to do with them!"

One of the minions shuffled its feet. "Even his maskie?" it asked.

"Yes! Just go!"

* * *

...

* * *

The guard's body hit the ground, followed a second later by his head – which did not roll very far, because the human head is not particularly good at rolling. Fettid did not pause, however, and sprang up the mast, vaulting off it to drop blade-first onto the skull of the watchman who had come to investigate the wet noise.

The goblinoid creature grinned aimlessly, as its eyes scanned the deck. The runes on the back of its left hand were a dull, eye-aching glow which onlookers seemed to skip over, and their presence filled the mind of the creature. Mostly with ways of killing, maiming, and otherwise inflicting damage with any of the several weapons he had acquired.

Okay, pretty much exclusively with that knowledge. It wasn't as if there was competition for space.

And to reinforce that point, Fettid drew a pair of daggers from underneath his stinking armpits – considerably raising the chance of infection for those injured by them – and hurled them overarm at the last man on deck, who had been using the chance to empty his bladder over the side. 'Emptying his veins' off the starboard bow was probably not what he had intended, but it was what fate had decreed should happen. Or at least something which passed for fate in a poor light.

"Pissed," the minion hissed down the anchor chain. "I kills them all."

"You mean 'psst'. Don't think there are drinkies up there," Maxy whispered back up, before there was a yelp as Maggat hit him. "'Least not any good oneses," he muttered.

By minion-chain, the loot was passed down from the roof and up the chain onto the windship, bypassing all guards not currently dead and stripped of all worldly possessions. There was a moment of controversy as the ship's cat protested at the presence of minions on board, but it was bought down and hat-ised with only one minion fatality. And the luckless new brown-skinned minion was bought back, so it didn't really matter.

"So," Maggat said. "We got the sky-boatie. Now, how we fly it?"

"Bog used to know, but he got eaten by bloody vampire," Maxy contributed. "Poor Bog. So I guess we have to make this up as we go along."

"I can fly this," Scyl declared, taking hold of the wheel. The runes on his left hand began to pulse, slowly, as he dramatically furled his long black cape around himself. "I have the knowingness-ness-itude. It's like a water boatie. Only of the sky."

Igni shrugged. "You a blue, so if you say all boaties are alike, I believe you," he said. "Now, blunderbuss on the front cannon!"

"No there isn't," Maxy objected.

"Not yet," the horned minion said with a grin. "I got _good ideas _for this boatie."

"Wait just..." Maggat paused, and began to count, moving onto the skeletal hands on his belt, "wait just six-ten moments! You a blue! You spacey and not good at thinkin' 'bout stuff in front of you and..."

"I needs minions on the right and left... no, the runey is telling me that they are called starboard and port... cannons," Scyl said, dreamily. "It has a friendly voice, and is my friend. And so I need my other friends on the cannons."

"Me!" Maggat and Maxy said at the same time.

"Rest of you, go do what I say. We start by pulling up the anchor..."

* * *

...

* * *

"Go go g-urk!" yelled the first minion to leave the cover. The "urk" was the noise produced when a water-blade took its head off, and left its spasming corpse on the floor. Louise followed closely behind, trying not to look at the twitching body, and instead occupied her time with something more productive.

Like lobbing a fireball at the comte de Mott, which... well, admittedly, it missed because she was trying to aim while also trying to cross the street as fast as she could, but at least it landed in front of him. Which had the dual effects of throwing up thick white snow-like spoke, and also aborting the spell he was trying to cast from the lung-burning heat.

"You two, left!" Louise ordered as she ran as the red minions began to hurl an inaccurate but enthusiastic barrage of fireballs in the general direction of the comte. They were not noticeably adding to the amount of things which were on fire in the area, but every little helped. And the zip and whoosh of the red minion's fireballs had to be distracting when you were trying to cast.

The heat of the burning street was like a blow against her face as she ran as fast as she could, jinking to try to avoid whatever might be aimed at her through the steam and smoke. Her armoured feet clattered and splashed through burning perfume which was pooling in the gutters. Ice came out of no-where; she hurdled the frozen wall which appeared in front of her even as the minion following her hit it head-first.

"Woo hoo!" A small, brown projectile sprung onto the comte de Mott's back from behind. Screaming, the man flailed wildly, trying to protect his head from the club blows that the minion was raining on him. Stumbling back into a wall momentarily stunned the creature on his back; enough for him to get his wand facing it. A jet of water sent it flying off into the air, and the comte turned, looking for his opponent, only to receive a desperate steel-gauntleted punch in the chest.

It was somewhat less effective than Louise might have hoped, because the man did not in fact go down like a stunned pig. Instead, he gasped in pain. And then lowered his shoulder and threw himself at her.

This was somewhat of a problem, because she was petite, delicate, slender, and all kinds of other female-complimentary terms and thus barely over a metre and a half, and he was a fully grown man breaking two metres. So unsurprisingly, she was knocked down. And then pinned.

"I was a wrestler at school, donchaknow?" the comte grated. "Muscular men, oiled up, grappling and hugging and fighting for dominance... oh, I learned all kinds of things in those days." He shifted his weight, so his forearm lay over Louise's throat, at the gap where only mail protected her. "This isn't how I wanted to get in this position with you," he said, almost casually, "but I suppose it'll have to do." It was a sign of how much stronger he was that he could manage to reach up and pick up his wand while also keeping her pinned with just one arm.

Her mind had gone blank. She honestly, really, certainly, really didn't know what to do. He was stronger than her and had her arms pinned and every thought had left her head and...

Louise de la Vallière did what came naturally to her. Her steel-armoured knee rose up into the groin of the comte de Mott.

The metal hit the meat.

The man made a noise best represented in text as 'ghneee'.

His eyes crossed to such an extent that he appeared to be inspecting the tip of his own nose in great detail, insofar as he could do such a thing through the tears of pain. He sagged and went limp, collapsing onto her. The weight was not a casual concern, and she squirmed out from under him, rolling away.

Despite the pain, he was in enough control to do the same. Louise and the comte began to chant at the same time. He was faster. Before her thrown fireball could intercept his crouched-over form, it was up and away, being born away on a tendril of water which lifted him up onto the roof of a building which was hardly on fire at all.

"So!" he snapped. "You may have a temporary advantage! But hear this! I am not defeated. And the forces of Good will see you cast down! Yes, indeed! And I will recover the cost of every least insult and damage you have inflicted on me from your body, woman, indeed I..."

What he was about to say was interrupted by a roar like a cannon. And the top half of the body of Alexander Nicholas de Mott, the comte de Mott, was suddenly missing in action. Perhaps it had an acrimonious split with his legs. Maybe his feet decided that they were sick of being trodden on by the higher aristocracy, and convinced everything else below the waist to cast off their oppressors. After all, with his head gone, they had nothing to lose but their chins.

Louise could merely stare at the sight. She was... fairly sure that she hadn't done that. Probably. When she miscast magic, things exploded, but they didn't get torn in half!

"I tell you that ball-and-chain is right thing to use!" a minion said both smugly and loudly. "Next time listen to Igni when I tell you best way to killy thing with cannon!"

"Mistress!" something yelled from above her, which was followed rapidly by a rope. Which nearly hit her. "Grab the ropeses and then we can go!"

"Unless you still has thing to do here, because we can go whenever..." began another minionly voice, before there was a yelp.

Louise looked up, and saw the windship overhead. Even at this distance, she could see Maggat's head and skull pauldrons.

"Where did you get that!" she yelled up at the ship.

"Looted it! Guardsies stole our coach, so we take ship so you not be angry with us! Now, got to go! We set fire to a few things on way, and Igni toss fireworks down onto guardhouses, so they have problems getting us and we can watch pretty fire on way out!"

The other minions down here on the ground who were... well, still alive were already squirming up the rope. Considering the state of the street around her and the sound of another explosion from the perfume warehouse, Louise de la Vallière felt it might be a very good idea to join them. And as the windship sailed away from the town – showing remarkable skill for something being piloted by minions – she slumped down in pain and exhaustion and watched the red-painted night behind her.

* * *

...

* * *

Charcoal held firmly in hand, Louise stared at the drawn face of the Comte de Mott hung up in the white-washed room she referred to as her 'drawing room'. Slowly and deliberately, she crossed it out.

"So," she said, trying to sound cheerful, "one down. Three to go, yes?"

"Indeed, your evilness," Gnarl said, obsequiously. "In addition, your treasury is in a considerably more healthy state – which is to say, you have a treasury made up of more than small change – the minions on the barges have recovered the construction equipment and work can begin on the repairs, and, of course, you now have a windship."

That had been a wonderful stroke of luck, the girl had to agree. She would need to see the minions who had done that rewarded. Positive reinforcement, that was the way her father said you did it! Reward a man who saved your life, because that way he'll be encouraged to do it again. And while they hadn't exactly saved her life, they had stopped Mott getting away, and gotten her the ship and the gold – and it wasn't like buying some novelty hats for them or whatever minions liked should be that expensive.

He cleared his throat. "However, my lady, I do not believe that any of us wish to repeat that scenario again. That nearly went wrong on several levels."

"It was a good plan," Louise protested. "It's just that dratted Mott showed up."

"And the guards taking the coach which was to move the gold out of the way?" Gnarl asked.

"I had a plan for that!" Louise protested. "They were going to throw the money into the river, and then we could have come back later and recovered it. It wasn't a bad back-up!"

"Still, your evilness, the bit where you tried to attack the comte de Mott on your own was not well done. You are an overlady, not some bruiser in a steel suit! And we are your loyal minions; we are your second arms and your second legs. You need to stop going off on your own, and rely on us."

"Yes, yes, of course," the girl said. Louise took a breath, and said what had been on her mind. "Should I... really have killed him like that? Well, let him be killed. Shouldn't he have... have got to go back with a message of warning or something? It feels... a bit empty. I didn't... get to kill him, and... and it was quick, and..." she trailed off, not wanting to mention any personal feelings of squeamishness or guilt about burning down a fair chunk of a town.

"Oh no, of course not, my lady," Gnarl said, with a hint of irritation in his voice. "Some overlords are under the mistaken belief that they should let Heroes escape, to stew in their bitterness and frustration. It is a fine theory, I must admit, but hard experience has taught me that this just results in them going out and killing a dragon or an orc warlord or something like that, getting their hands on some new magic sword, training up their skills, and then coming back and murdering the overlord. Usually with 'magic sword to the face'."

"Ah," Louise said. No, she wouldn't want that. And the comte de Mott had been quite a pig, in an obnoxiously handsome way.

"It is very annoying," the elderly minion said. "You would think that they would have the decency to get themselves killed by the dragon or be crippled when you cut off their arm, but no! No, they always manage to kill the dragon and get the treasure which allows them to defeat the overlord, or find a magical arm which just happens to replace their old one! What is the point of crippling injuries if they are not actually crippled, that's what I have to ask you? Magical replacement arms are so very annoying, and yet they clearly hand them out like toffee to defeated heroes! Where do they even get them?"

Louise shrugged, wincing from the pain in her muscles. "I think they can make them in Amstelredamme. It's a very advanced place, because of the university, which means there are lots and lots of mages there. Like Eleanore. And that means that they have more than their fair share of bad-tempered geniuses specialising in odd fields. Like Eleanore."

"Oh well, then remember to kill foes," Gnarl said, with an exasperated sigh. "Places like that usually only last a hundred years or so before they get destroyed by either Good or Evil, but they're so very annoying while they last. Nothing is quite as obnoxious as some little philosopher playing with lightning bringing back a long-dead Hero who you thought was out of the way. Evil has much more reliable ways to ensure that you come back from the dead, and it's really not fair play for Good to steal them."

"I see," Louise said, and sighed. "Well, Gnarl, I'm sure you will want to go and count all the money personally and start to plan for how I can start the repair work..."

"As a matter of fact," the elderly minion began smugly, "I happen to have come up with..."

"... but," Louise continued, "that can wait until the morning. Or possibly tomorrow morning. Whatever. I expect you will have plans drawn up by then. I haven't slept at all and I think it's sunrise. So I'm going to the kitchens to get some cheese, and when I get to my quarters I expect a hot bath to have been run, because I smell of rust and smoke and burning perfume which is _far _too strong. If that is not done, I will be very dissatisfied. And after my bath, I will go to bed."

She yawned.

"Just so you know, anything which disturbs me for a lesser reason than the tower being under attack will be flogged until they are half-dead. And if they can be brought back to life, they will be flogged to death, and then brought back, and then flogged almost to the point of death. _Do I make myself clear?_"

"Maliciously so, your evilness," Gnarl said, bowing. His eyes tracked her out of the room. "I do believe she is blossoming," he said to himself. "Like a spiky, malevolent, thorny, poisonous rose."

* * *

...


	13. A Heroic Interlude

**A Heroic Interlude**

* * *

...

* * *

The darkness of the long-sealed tomb stank of grave-mould and rot. The small circle of light at the centre was a valiant point of righteousness in the night, holding forth against the shambling undead and leering goblinoids.

"I told you it was a mistake to go into this place in the middle of the night!" Montmorency de Montmorency shouted through clenched teeth. "I told you! Didn't I tell you? I told you! We should have waited until morning!"

There was a sound like an iron foundry falling down a flight of stairs, and a small mob of brazen golems rampaged through the dead. Dry bones and dusty flesh turned out to be somewhat compromised in structural integrity when solid brass animated statues charged into and over the top of them.

"Aha! Taste the beauty of the rose, vile monsters!" Guiche de Gramont called out, sweeping his wand around to lead his shining horde in their assault.

And it was hardly worth noting that the constructs were getting more kills from standing on goblins and zombies than they were with their rather unskilled swordplay.

Fire flared in the dark, washing against the wall and leaving only burnt shadows. "Mont!" called out Kirche von Zerbst, as she alternated between lobbing lesser fireballs down the corridor and hacking at the closer foes with her long-handled curved blade, "ice the floor of the right corridor!" A goblin fell screaming as she cut its arm off. "More zombies down that way!"

"Moving the golems to get the gate!" Guiche interrupted, his pack of metal warriors swarming to obscure the entry and crank the lever which inched the ponderous door closed.

"Thanks! Tabby, wight forwards! Take it out!"

Eyes dead, the blue-haired girl who called herself 'Tabitha' picked up one of the long poles the four schoolchildren had been carrying with them, and tapped it with her wand, muttering a short incantation. It shot out of her grasp like it had been fired from a cannon, piercing three goblins before lodging itself in a lunching figure wearing a richly decorated helmet covered in long-rotted plumes.

"Target eez down," the blue-haired girl said flatly in a strong Gallian accent, before scything down a group of fleeing goblins with a burst of ice.

And then there was nothing alive or undead left in the corridor, save for the children and their brass golems. Kirche put down her blade and dug in a pouch at her belt to recover a handkerchief to wipe her blood, soot and sweat-streaked face. "Right," she said, "looks like there's the gold-leaf door the old man up ahead told us." She stretched out her shoulders, her leather armour creaking, and returned the dirty handkerchief back to her belt. "Anyone get hurt in that?"

Guiche winced, tapping his breastplate. "Feeling a bit bruised under this; one of the goblins shot me. Scratched the armour. The padding took most of the force, but I'm going to be aching there tomorrow morning. No," he said, raising his hand, "save your magic, Monmon. We've still got the liche in there, and he'll be more of a threat."

"Fine," the blonde said. "Though... shouldn't we return to the surface, and wait until the morning? The dead'll be weaker when the sun's up, and we can rest up."

The boy shook his head. "No," he said, "we have to rescue the count before the liche can do whatever evil deed's he's planning. If he's dead by the time we get there because we stopped for a rest, it'll be our fault."

"I'm with Guiche," Kirche agreed. "The reward for getting him back alive is well over twice than he's worth dead."

Montmorency sighed; a noise in which 'money-grubbing Germanian' could be heard. "Well, what about you, Tabitha?" she asked. "Shouldn't we go back up and wait for morning?"

The blue-haired girl looked up from the book she had recovered. "Does not matter," she said, softly. "Slyphid can find 'er own food."

"So it's agreed!" Guiche declared. "Let's go end this evil once and for all!"

But there was no evil liche waiting on the other side of the door, despite the dramatic manner in which they had burst through, flanked by an honour guard of brass golems. There was just this hollow, echoing space, with another identical-but-sealed door on the other side. And in the middle of the room there were three pillars, which looked to be made of white marble. On the left-hand one, there were four rings of gold over the pillar. The one at the bottom was the widest by far, and they got smaller as they rose. The sculpting were beautiful, a classic remnant of a bygone era, and they were studded with windstones which crackled with lightning.

The dry rasp of the undead warlord's voice echoed through the antechamber. "Ah, you poor fool_sss_," he hissed, in a voice which suggested he would have been spraying spittle all over the place had his saliva not evaporated years ago. "You may have defeated my previou_sss_ champion_sss_! But they were but le_ssssss_er being_sss_! Mere violen_sss_ _sss_ufi_sss_ed! But in here, I am warded by my magic and my might! I am _sss_upreme in here!"

"We'll get you!" Guiche called out. "Just you wait!"

"You never will," the liche cackled. "I am _sss_afe, and time i_sss _on my _sss_ide! You are like dry leave_sss _on the gale_sss _of my power_sss_! No man has ever broken through my final defence_sss_! Behold them!"

"This is boring," Kirche muttered.

"Behold! I have put many mighty and powerful ward_sss _on thi_sss _la_sss_t defen_sss_! The only way through i_sss _to _sss_olve the puzzle, but a _sss_ingle mistake will fill the entire room with the power of lightning!"

The corpse filled the room with laughter, echoing in this hollow space. And the four children stared at the four rings upon their pillar.

"What," Guiche said flatly. "I'm sorry, but... wasn't that a problem in mathematics? You move the rings and... and stuff happens. Is this meant to be some kind of cunning trap?"

"Well," Montmorency said, transferring her wand to her other hand and stretching out her fingers. "This won't take long. Just as well, really. That hissing bag of bones is annoying."

"You said it," Kirche agreed. "Tabby, go solve that thing and we can go set this idiot on fire and save the handsome count."

* * *

...

* * *

"... and once again, brave Guiche de Gramont, I thank you for your aid in rescuing my nephew," said the avuncular man, to applause from the watchers. "And your beautiful companions, of course, deserve our hearty thanks. I would ask you to stay longer, but of course, we know that skills such as yours are needed all across Tristain. You captured the loathsome Fouquet... she stole a very nice jewelled goblet off me three years ago, you slew the orc warlord An Mak, and now, having crushed the liche king and saved the Count de Maas, I will make sure the whole country knows of your deeds."

Guiche boosted himself up into his saddle, and bowed. "You are too kind, my lord," he said. "In times of uncertainty such as this, with the political turmoil and such dreadful things, the least we can do is put our school holidays towards helping out our country."

"Nonsense, dear boy. I served with your father, donchaknow, and I am proud to see that no matter what anyone might say about your family having fallen on hard times, the same heroism of the de Gramonts burns brightly! Why, it can even bring to life the flames of a Germanian and a Gallian, to fight with you!" He leaned towards, pressing a small coin purse into the blond's hand. "A little extra, on top of our pre-existing gratitude."

"I do like fire," Kirche said, nodding, before she clambered up onto her own mount. Her eyes swept over the crowd, lingering on the young count standing beside the weighty man. Her eyes sparkled; he flushed bright red and mouthed something at her.

Beside the Germanian, Monmon sighed. "We must be on our way, though, if we don't want to be caught in the bad weather which looks to be moving in."

"Yes, yes, of course," said a woman with a generous bosom and a slightly sour look in her eyes. "Thank you so much for rescuing my half-brother. Alive. I'm in your eternal debt. Really. Thank you."

Guiche bowed to her too. "We did what we had to do, fair lady," he said. "How could I let the brother of someone so beautiful as you perish? I would hate for one as fair as you to mourn." Her eyes softened, and she smiled.

Purely by accident, Monmon's horse stumbled into Guiche's, and he nearly fell off. And together, the party of students wheeled their horses around, and to applause went out to where they would meet with Tabitha, who was getting food for her dragon-familiar.

"That went pretty well," Guiche said smugly, leaning back on his horse with both hands behind his head. "We slew the liche king, rescued the count, got rewarded and deposited our hard-earned... uh, earnings with a banking house, and we sold some of those things from the tomb." His face darkened. "And I had to pay to have my breastplate beaten out," he added. "The least they could have done would have been to do that for free."

"That's why I wear leathers," Kirche said, smirking. "Lighter, and more comfortable." She rested one hand on her chest. "And of course, they don't make plates like that to fit me," she said, ignoring Montmorency's muttering. "Though," the girl said, "he really wasn't much of a 'king of all liches' for all his bragging. He was... like, a baron at most. And went up like a torch." She blew on her fingers. "Wonderful."

"Incidentally, Guiche," Montmorency added, "I saw the purse he gave you. You're going to share it with the rest of us. In case it slips your mind."

The boy dug his hand into his pocket, and began to count out coins. A dragon's cry sounded out, and the three of them took their horses' reins firmly. The beasts may have been somewhat used to being around a dragon by now, but they were still put on edge by it. Especially when, as now, it had been feeding; the creature's mouth was still bloody as it landed next to them. Tabitha did not look up from her book. "Cows," she said. "Paid for them."

"All right!" Kirche declared, stretching. "Guiche, we're going to..."

"Looking at the map," the boy said, "we can probably make Sant Henri before nightfall. The guidebook says the inn there is good, and has hot baths. It's also near the ruins of the Beschendaal Estate, and they say there are still flesh-eating monks living down in the basement."

"Wonderful!" Montmorency and Kirche said in tandem. They paused, and then the blonde continued. "All right. I picked the notifications from the town speaker back there, so we'll be able to see what else is going on around here."

"Pass me some," the red-head said. "I don't trust you on your maths for the value-time investment ratios."

"My sums are perfectly good!"

"I really wish we didn't do this," Guiche sighed. "It feels sordid, working out what gives the best money return for our time. Wouldn't you say so, Tabitha?"

He looked up at the girl on the dragon. The dragon looked at him. After a short wait, the girl did too. "No," she said. "You... 'ow do you say... want to be ze 'ero. Ze main person. But you are not."

"Fine!" he muttered, reining in his horse a little while pouting. And so the party rode on in silence, broken only by the low mutterings of Kirche and Montmorency as they compared and calculated travel times, risk factors, and expected returns of investments. It was almost lunch time when the blonde girl's raised voice disturbed the peace.

"You really have no standards," Monmon said caustically. "I can't believe you did... that! With the count! Stop trying to get me to take account of the likelihood of rescuing pretty boys!"

"But they're so grateful and expressive in their gratitude when you rescue them!" Kirche objected.

"That doesn't make it okay!"

"I know," Kirche said, shaking her head sadly. She slapped herself gently across the face. "Bad Kirche! Very bad Kirche! Such terrible standards!"

"There's no need to mock me because you're a Germanian trollop," the blonde informed her. "At heart, you're kind of a bitch, you know that?"

"But I do have no standards!" Kirche said, putting one hand to her mouth. "He may have looked handsome, but he was a virgin. And virgins are no good until they've learned where to put their thing." She shook her head sadly. "But I let my weak, womanly lusts overcome me! Such shame! Such ignominy!"

"There's no talking to you when you're like this," Monmon retorted, wheeling her horse away.

"It's really a shame too," Kirche added wickedly, "because he had really nice estates." She paused, deliberately. "And a large endowment."

Montmorency made a disgusted harrumph.

"True," Tabitha said, looking up from her book. "Ze County de Maas eez wealthy. Collects trade tariffs along ze... the river. 'Is parents are dead. Marriage prospects are good."

There was an awkward silence.

"Look, Tabby," Kirche said kindly, "just keep reading, okay? But yes, he was no good with it. And it's no good having a large endowment if you don't know how to use it."

"A bad investment eez bad for status and money," the blue-haired girl agreed, returning to her book.

Kirche sighed. "You lot are no fun, you know that?" she said, sadly. "You're too frigid for it to be funny, Monmon, Guiche has his fingers in his ears because it makes him vaguely uncomfortable when I talk like this, and Tabby doesn't get what I'm saying."

"I don't have my fingers in my ears," Guiche objected, from his position somewhat behind the other three. "I'm just... uh, reading the map."

"Sure you are," Kirche said cheerfully.

The blue-haired girl looked up from her book, frowning. After a few moments of thought, her eyes widened. "Oh," she said, "not 'is lands? Inheritance from muzzer? That eez 'is endowment?"

The red-head smirked. "Well, I saw his sister there and the portraits in the hallway, and I'd have to say, I think she's the one with the two large inheritances from their mother, not him!" she observed.

"Oh. Passing wealth down only through line female. Zat... that eez unusual. Eez zat why she was not 'appy we rescued 'im alive, no?"

"Go back to your book, Tabby." Kirche sighed. "No fun at all. None of you explode at me like L... like the fun way. I'm like a fire deprived of my fuel. A blacksmith without iron. A troll without her favourite amusing little billygoat."

"Or a slattern without her dignity," Montmorency drawled.

"Just not the same," the taller girl said, shaking her head. "It's just not the same." She shook her head. "Lunch?" she asked.

It was generally agreed to be a good move. And over the meal, they discussed their options. And what to do next.

"Veto," Tabitha said.

Guiche raised his eyebrows in surprise. "But... a remote castle, terrorised by ghosts, offering to pay well if people will rid them of the menace? Sure that combines heroism and being well rewarded in a..."

"Veto."

"But..."

"Oh, lay off her, Guiche," Kirche said lazily, sprawling back on the grass. "She used her veto; we all get one." She picked up another pamphlet. "Oh, here's one," she said. "A family from... does it say Tarbes or Tardes here? I can't read it; whoever wrote it was an illiterate. Oh well. Yeah, their... dum de dum, oldest daughter missing, willing to pay a reward... yeah, that one's worthless. Less than an ecu, and it's up north. Not worth it."

"Though if we head that way, we should always keep an eye out," the blond boy said over his shoulder, as he went to the horses to recover a treat for his mole-familiar.

"... well, if we must," Kirche said, reluctantly. "We'd have to be very, very near or for it to be very easy if it's worth it for probably-days of effort doesn't even get us an ecu."

"I'm sure it's all they can afford," Guiche said, raising his voice over the contended sound of his familiar sucking on a fine South-Eastern black loam. "But yes, you're right. If we knew it was more than a missing girl, like if it was some necromancer or demon who had spirited her away, then it would be different."

"It certainly would," the redhead agreed. "Hey, while you're over by the bags, get me some horse jerky, would you?"

Monmon looked up from where she was tallying up their takings. "That's hardly very lady-like," she said primly. "Can you at least keep your mouth closed this time when chewing? Guiche, Kirche is deliberately eating with her mouth open to annoy me!"

Tabitha wiped her hands on the ground. "Still go to Sant 'enri," she said. "Catch up later. There eez somezing I need to do."

"See you," Kirche said with a wide-open mouth, waving lazily, as Tabitha sprung up onto the back of her dragon, and it soared off in a gust of wind. She tossed a piece of meat to her salamander familiar, which caught it in its mouth. "Well, what else?" she asked. "Oh, it says here that apparently the Madame de Montespan will pay a thousand ecu if anyone can provide information towards the discovery of something called the Fireheart. With..." she let out an impressed whistle, "... my, ten thousand ecu if it is brought to her in Amstelredamme."

"Do we know what it is?" Guiche asked. "Fireheart... the name sounds familiar. Was it that thing which was once stolen by the Anti-Popess Luxuria before Huenon the Brave cast her from the highest tower of the Janiculum?"

"... that's... uh, a little unclear," Kirche admitted. "And... uh, no. No, she had replaced her heart with the Heart of Passion. I know that for a fact; I've always been very fond of the tales of her and her exploits. What a dreadful woman she was, turning the flames of passion towards Evil like she did!"

"Helpful," Monmon drawled. "Really." She stretched out on the grass. "I think it's not going to rain after all," she said, looking up at the sky. "Look. The clouds are moving away, to the north. And..." she shivered. "Did anyone else just get a cold feeling? No? No?" She sighed. "Just me, then."

"I need to go find a bush," Guiche noted, pulling himself to his feet. "And some soft leaves."

"Thank you very much for telling us that! Too much information!" Montmorency snapped.

* * *

...

* * *

Pan out, up away from the grassy field filled with grass, flowers, bunnies, and other such signs of Goodness, and we end up in the sky. And then by the mechanism of a perspective shift, it is revealed that aha! All the world was trapped inside a crystal ball.

The blue minion assigned to watching the ball frowned. With all its intellect and concentration, tongue sticking out, it began to write in chalk on the black board in front of it.

YLLOW + RED + YELOW HRR HROS TAKLING ABUT STUFF. BLU HRO GO AWY ON DRGN.

NOW I WNT JRKY

Gnarl's Hero Observation Project had... perhaps a little bit to go before he should tell the overlady of its existence. There were still quite a few niggling little implementation flaws, like the use of minions as watchers, and the fact that he only had one crystal ball, and of course the fact that it was mostly luck if they stumbled on a group.

Still, Evil always found a way. And if it didn't... well, he hadn't told the overlady about this new plan, so from a certain point of view, it wasn't like Evil – or he – had failed or anything of that preposterous nature.

* * *

...


	14. Revamping the Tower

"_No! This cannot be! This will not be! I will not let a von Zerbst, of all people, be my downfall! Well know this, Abraham! You could have saved her! But you chose to pursue me even when I damn well gave you the chance to rescue your wife! She was a bitch to the end… but now it's more true than ever! You heard that howling, did you not? Viktoria von Zerbst… show yourself and kill your fool of a husband! Ah ha ha ha ha!"_

– Louis de la Vallière, the Bloody Duke

* * *

…

* * *

The sunlight of the new day's dawn washed across the forsaken swamp and the ruined tower within like molten gold.

Of course, an ancestor of the nominal owner of aforementioned ruined tower had once attempted to cover a particularly ugly village which had annoyed him in molten gold. However, the cost had been prohibitive, and he had been forced to resort to iron. As a result, he had discovered while the ways in which sunlight was like molten gold were beyond his fiscal capabilities to measure, sunlight was pretty much nothing like molten iron, which typically had a lot more screaming, burning, toxic fumes, foul steams and other such things than sunlight. His diary for the day had mourned how the iron didn't look as good as he would have liked and that next time he should probably use bronze, before going into a paranoid rant about how his daughter was planning to murder him.

Incidentally, he was proven right when she pushed him into one of his own smelters.

But because the thing which was washing across the landscape was only sunlight and not molten metal, what woke Louise de la Vallière from her slumber was not searing heat, but instead only mildly uncomfortable brightness from the light shining through her shutters.

The dark overlady of vile darkness groaned, and tried to stuff her head under her pillow. Wretched light! For hundreds of years, had not man dreamed of destroying the sun? Well, she would show it!

Eventually, though, she was forced to concede that her considerable and malevolent willpower would not succeed where the anti-pope Obteneratus III had failed, and dragged herself out of bed. She was aching all over. She still felt grimy, despite her bath last night, and raising her nightdress she could see that the bruise she had noticed all the way down her left thigh was turning a nasty shade of purple. Limping, she dressed herself with stiff fingers, putting on what armour she could manage and then throwing a robe over the top of it - and went off to find herself breakfast.

There was a minor miracle waiting for her. Admittedly, it was the kind of miracle which one had to prepare for oneself, and hence was not particularly miraculous, but still, there was plenty of food from her shopping trip the day before yesterday. And... well, at least there would be wheat flour because the minions had looted a few warehouses that she hadn't told them to.

Surely it wasn't that hard to make bread? After all, peasants managed it. And failing that, she could probably get a minion to steal a baker's clothes and it would probably turn out tolerably bad. God only knew how minions seemed to acquire skills from the things they stole. Well, maybe God only suspected. But the Abyss almost certainly knew.

But still, there was bread and there was butter made from nice reliable horse milk and there was bacon and there was even fried mushroom because the minions had made her some in the same pan as the bacon. She was hungry, and the mushrooms tasted of overdone pork fat, rather than mushroom. There was however no rat. So everything was good.

She was just finishing her second helping when a red-skinned minion wearing a long heavy apron and smelling of gunpowder skidded up beside her. "Overlady!" he said. "Gnarl say..." and he frowned for a moment. "He say lots of words, but he then say that in easy-peasy version that he want to see you in map room. You have to give orders about what to do with ship."

"I see," Louise said, with her mouth full.

"Also, what to do with drunken sailor. We find him early in morning. Being sick in cabin."

The dark lady put her knife down with a sigh, and laid her head down upon her hands. Nothing ever went the easy way, did it?

"Maggat want to shave his belly with rusty razor, but Scyl say no, we feed him to hungry rats for dinner. It probably good idea, because ratties are large and hungry and we needs to get our milky from them so we can make tasty cheeses. And then Maxy grin and say that that sound good and then we all get very worried because that what he do when he getting poet-ical on us and then he went looking for that lyre that he steal from pub," the minion continued mercilessly. "And that very bad indeed. When Maxy get poet-ical, we has to listen to him until we manages to take his music thing and break it. And even then he sing."

Louise groaned into her hands. It was too early in the morning for minions. Of course, it was often also too late in the evening for minions, or too middle of the day in the middle of the day, but she was feeling this most acutely. "I'll go see him," she said, hoping to fend off any other minion stories along the way.

She was unsuccessful.

* * *

...

* * *

"... and then Snot say to Pyre, 'but I not on fire', and Pyre say 'not yet!' and we all laugh! It even funnier because then Pyre set him on fire!"

"Gnarl!" Louise said as soon as she stepped into the map room... which, uh, seemed to be rather devoid of maps. It was part of the underground parts of the tower which had not yet been whitewashed, and rotting curtains hung heavy on the walls. At least the lighting here was somewhat better than in other similar rooms; several bright magical crystals hung from the ceiling, casting pools of light onto areas of the floor and revealing that it had been haphazardly swept. There were minions lounging around here, as well as her advisor waiting for her. "You said you had news for me?"

The elderly minion straightened up, the light over his head bobbing around. "Indeed, your evilness," he said, putting down the silvery mechanism he had been examining. "Firstly, the matter of the drunken sailor. I propose we..."

Louise had time to think about this on the way here, as she tried to ignore the babbling of the red-skinned minion. "Tie him in a sack, and throw him out somewhere," she said, impatiently, ignoring the squeal of glee from the floppy-hatted brown-skinned minion to one side who started writing something down before Maggat hit him in the head with a club. "But make sure he's as drunk as... a very drunk sailor beforehand. On that beer the greens drink, the one I don't trust."

Gnarl smirked. "Ah, excellent plan, your evilness. That beer contains wormwood, you know. Well, it certainly contains worms and wood, and the greens go for wormwood whenever they can. He'll not know whether it's the day of Evil or breakfast time."

"Actually, I was thinking," Louise lied – this was actually just a good idea she'd had on the spot – "that what we should do is transport him somewhere else and then get... like, some of the smarter minions to brag in front of him about their 'hidden base' and then when he gets found, they'll look for the ship wherever we left him. Maybe closer to the capital, as the portal allowed us to get there, but not too close because we don't want to let them find out where that stone circle was. You see, I read it in a book by the Iberian general..."

"Most exquisitely evil, your darkness," her chief minion agreed. "Such a masterly deception. Trick and confound the annoyingly tenacious forces of good. Of course…" he added, "you could always sacrifice him to…"

"No!" the overlady blurted out. She took a breath. "That would be… short-sighted! Anything that could be… um… could gained from a sacrifice would be lost if they… they didn't have a false lead from the sailor! The fact that I have a secret base is really, really, really… vital for my… uh, plans." Well, that was certainly true. "And I know from history that once the forces of Good find out where a dark lord's tower is, they'll end up defeating them. And that would be bad. Good. A thing we don't want." At least until she _planned _to be defeated, at least.

Gnarl stroked his goatee. "There is wisdom there, my lady," he said. "Very well. We will get the drunken sailor even more drunken, and then he will be tied in a sack and thrown through the tower heart. And then he will be dragged over to a town and village, and possibly left near a cesspit. I will give the orders."

Louise brushed a lock of hair back, internally relaxing. That had been a close one. She wasn't about to be responsible for the death of a probably-mostly-innocent sailor if she could avoid it. And she had been rather cunning to use it to cover her tracks, she thought smugly. "Now," she said, moving on, "the ship?"

"Oh, indeed, indeed." The elderly minion hobbled over to the balcony, and it was at that point that Louise realised that the map room was in fact more akin to… to some kind of viewing pit, with a circular arena down on the ground. What it appeared to lack was any maps, however. "It took us a while to find this again and get all the machinery working," Gnarl said conversationally. "The bloody vampire had been using this as a dumping pit for corpses, and also – worse! – amateur dramatics."

"It take us long time to get rid of costumes crammed down into gears," Igni added. "They very bad costumes! Barely good enough to give to new minions! So we give them to them as punishment, say 'when you loot better costume, you no have to wear this rubbish'." The red-skinned minion focussed. "Maggat say it 'moe-tea-vay-shun-all'. Of course, then Maxy ask him what that means, and Maggat explain that it all about not letting them have tea. That bad punishment. Tea is good. Especially with rum added."

"Indeed, the little darlings are great tea drinkers," Gnarl said. "We had an Albionese overlord once, and they picked up the habit from him, especially when he tried to invade Cathay and the rest of the Mystic East to control the world supplies of it. He died, of course; my lady, be careful around the warriors of the Mystic East. They fight in strange ways quite unlike the Heroes around here."

"Analogue pirate!" the jester contributed to the discussion.

Louise blinked at the… unconnected nature of the statement. Well, she had come into a possession of a ship. Which had been sort of stolen. By things which worked for her. And even if she hadn't exactly told them to do it, she had still kept possession of it. So it was sort of piracy.

She didn't get where the 'analogue' came in. Maybe it was an analogy.

To get away from this madness and minonly illogic, she quickly asked, "So, the ship?"

"Indeed, indeed. Deploy the maps," Gnarl commanded.

"Deploy map!" a rather shrill minion yelled from somewhere up in the rafters.

Slowly, with a grinding of unseen clockwork gears, the floor below began to morph and deform. Model buildings, structures, cities, even the tower in its ruined state; all rose up from the floor even as the terrain shifted to imitate the world. There were minions humming something in the background, for some reason. Louise did not feel it would be a productive use of her time to ask them why and would only lead to further confusion so instead she marvelled at the mechanical complexity of this thing before her. This must have been at least eighty years old – because the vampire hadn't put it in – and yet the clockwork involved must have been... well, frankly astonishing.

There! Down there she could see the northern coast taking shape! And... yes, that must have been the tower before it was ruined, a spiky pinnacle slowly rising up. And lesser buildings too; oversized to the scale of the map, but clearly connected to the tower! And...

... then it all ground to a halt, with a clanking and a noise which could only be described as 'cloing'.

Gnarl sighed. "Sadly, your evilness, it appears that everything is not quite as repaired as I might have liked. Oh well." He pointed down at a half-emerged model city. "You see that there? That is Bruxelles, the capital. "And that bit here, and here, and here," he jabbed his finger towards three spikes, "... those are three of the relay towers I have been able to ascertain still exist."

"Mistress of Mott's painful separation!" contributed the jester.

Well, that was fair enough, she had to admit. The joker was probably right there. "Relay... oh, yes, the things which increase how far the Tower Heart can reach!"

"And which do things like spawn new minions and generally enable your dark reign, yes," Gnarl agreed. "Sadly, they have a pronounced tendency to be destroyed by Heroes as a prelude to your attempted murder, as well as to be used as bases by small-minded fools who think that they are a full-scale tower, rather than merely a tool in the conquest of Evil. Still, I have found that there are three left which are within range; one to the east, one to the south, and one to the west. There is one more to the north, but it appears to be flooded. Perhaps the darkness of Doggerland has been drowned by the ocean once more."

"... I see," Louise said, who didn't. "I don't see how that's relevant to the thing of where to put my new ship, though." She paused. "Where is the ship?"

"We park it safely! Scyl know how to park ship!" Maggat said helpfully, thumbs hooked into his belt.

"Ah, well..."

"We not knock down any trees by accident at all!"

Ah. So they had knocked down some trees deliberately. Well, she couldn't bring herself to care right now. "Gnarl! Where is the ship!"

The elderly minion looked hurt. "Why, your evilness, it is docked in the Pit of Despair. Where else would it be?"

"I have a pit of despair? When did I get one of those?"

Gnarl shifted slightly uncomfortably. "Well," he admitted, "it is a little flooded, so it is currently a lake of despair. But once it is dried out – and right now, there are minion bucket chains there – we will be able to hide it from prying eyes in the tunnels in the side of the Pit!"

Louise exhaled, nostrils flaring. "They why did you send for me if you already knew about what to do with the ship?" she asked, the pitch of her voice rising. She jabbed her finger at Igni. "That one told me that you want to talk about what to do with the ship!"

"Oh, that was a mere formality," her advisor said dismissively. "We are going to talk about the repair work to the tower and what to prioritise. I had hoped to use the map room to explain it, but... ah, it is one of the things which is damaged. Igni, why did you lie to the overlady?"

The red-skinned minion pursed its lips. "I want to keep it a surprise for her! Tower work excite a lot of overlords and make them happy!" it replied. "It like prezzie!"

It was true, Louise was no more than mildly peeved; something which was quickly fading as she started to look forwards to the prospect of no longer living in a ruin. "So..." she began, gesturing for Gnarl to continue.

"Ah, indeed, indeed. Well, we can get down to the detailed cost calculations later, my lady, but as for the current state of affairs, you now have construction equipment – so generously donated by that town – and money as well as your minion workforce. As a result, we can begin repairs. You could focus on rebuilding the main tower, on the lower dungeons – you know, removing the holes in the floor and cleaning the place up – or even try to reclaim some of the exterior buildings. I would not recommend the latter, but the choice is up to you."

"Rebuild the tower?" Louise echoed.

"Ah, yes, your evilness," Gnarl said, rubbing his hands together, "why, many an evil overlord has chosen to build a larger tower to overcome any disrespect directed at him! With enough height – and girth, that's important too – you can hold others in contempt from your superior position! They're just jealous of your tower!"

Louise wrinkled her nose. "Aren't they a little... over the top?" she asked. "I mean, not only are they top heavy, but my father said that the towers of various dark lords are very susceptible to cannon fire. The least impact, and they start sagging or listing, and once they do that they're very hard to get upright again." She pursed her lips. "Wouldn't... like, something much shorter, but inside a protective layer of high walls make a much better seat of power?"

She got the distinct feeling Gnarl was not exactly pleased. "Your evilness, please, think of tradition. All overlords have a tower, and they are often judged on its size."

"I'm an overlady," the girl said tetchily.

"Oh, that's even more true of the distaff forces of darkness," the minion said. "To get ahead in the world, queens of darkness have an uphill battle, and having a big tower helps in that."

It was tempting, Louise did have to admit. Standing on top of the battlements, cackling, throwing fire down at fools who had come to steal her power... no! That was bad! She didn't want to be found out, and building a giant tower... was not subtle.

But it was so tempting.

Well, she could put it off for now. "I think we should focus on the lower areas first, on the dungeons and the hidden passageways," she said. "I think that is better suited for my personal plans."

"Very well, my lady," Gnarl said. "I will need to consult with you more, and might I recommend that you prioritise the map room in repairs. It allows me to dynamically show you the floor plans of such things and generally makes the bureaucratic process more efficient and functional. Why, it is quite beyond compare there."

"... I'll think about it," Louise said diplomatically. "But in the mean time..."

"Defiler of pure maidens!"

Louise spun, and kicked the jester in the face. "I never!" she screamed, panting. Steel boots clattering against the floor, she marched over and pressed one of her pointy heels into its chest. "Listen to me, you repugnant, stupid little creature," she hissed. "Firstly, I did nothing of the sort! All I did was take her clothing and her wand! I did _nothing _like that and I do not want my name connected with such vile acts. She was a girl!" She ground the heel against the minion. "And secondly, there was no way whatsoever that she was pure! Or a maiden! Pure maidens wouldn't try to seduce their evil captor! Certainly not so enthusiastically! Do I make myself clear?"

There was a squealing and a bubbling noise from the jester, which it might – in certain lights – be possible to read as agreement. Just to be sure, Louise kicked it a few more times, picked it up by an ear, dropped it and punted it as hard as she could. Breathing heavily, she made her way back to Gnarl. "Where were we?" she asked, brushing a lock of hair away from her eyes.

Gnarl cleared his throat. "A little more followthrough on the kicks, my lady, if you really wish for the jester to go as far as possible," he said, drily. "And as for everything else, well, I do believe that..." he paused, his eyes widening, and at the same moment Louise felt her gauntlet feel uncomfortably warm and chime like a bell.

"What's happening?" she asked, voice rising in pitch.

"That would be a message from... yes, that would be Scarron's incantation, and an attempt by someone not permitted to do so to pass through the tower heart," Gnarl said, voice low. "Your ladyship, it would be best to get down there right now with all the minions you can. And put your helmet on; it protects your head. We'll see what that old man-botherer wants."

* * *

...

* * *

Things never seemed to change down in the tower heart room. Although Gnarl had actually explained to her how one of the things she could spend time and money doing was cleaning the place up, he had also – in his way – hinted that she probably had better things to be doing with it.

Privately, it annoyed her a little bit to have the heart of her power looking like this, but he probably was right.

So instead she stood here in her full armour, army of minions behind her, feeling like a bit of a fool as she waited for something to happen.

"You need to invite them in," Gnarl prompted. "Only one person, though. It's common sense."

"Oh," Louise said, blushing pinkly. "Come in. One person," she tried.

Light flared from the tower heart, and when her vision cleared, a familiar-looking, dashingly handsome man was standing before her. The gentlemen, quite apart from being knee-weakenly gorgeous was also grinning from ear to ear with a pure joy which left her mouth dry. She swooned as he threw himself at her, sweeping her up in his manly embrace, mashing his breasts against her, kissing her full on the lips. It was every dream come true! It was every woman's fantasy! It was...

Wait a moment. Breasts?

Louise squirmed free – something which took more effort than she would have liked – and slapped herself in the side of her head, squinting. The man... with the long, manly... no! With the long hair and... and the curves and soft skin... and... she gritted her teeth. The man was in fact not a man! She had to keep herself thinking clear! Even if the sheer aura of manliness was leaving her weak at the knees and dry-mouthed. It was... very handsome... no! "Jessica," she grated out; yes, that was the m... the m... the person's name. "The... thing. And you... you kissed me!"

"We did it!" the m... Jessica exclaimed, delight clear in her voice. In one hand, she... yes, the rage seemed to be burning off the illusion... but in one hand, she had what looked to be a coverless book, with... Louise squinted. A picture of herself? Dressed in full armour? Hanging from a rope suspended from a windship?

A picture from her last night was... in a book?

"What's going on?" she protested.

"We made headlines! Well, you did, and so my armour did!"

"Who has a line on whose head?"

"We're going to be so massive!"

"What's size going to do with anything? Why aren't you making sense? And please, stop making me think of you in masculine ways!"

The two of them retreated to one of the more pleasant rooms in the ruined tower – which was rather like talking about one of the more clean areas of a pigsty – and over tea, Louise got Jessica to expand.

It didn't help much.

"So let me get this straight," Louise said, after Jessica gave an extended explanation. Hand gestures were involved. And sketches. "The Abyss... this is the place where the demons come from and wicked souls burn?"

"Mmm hmm."

"The Abyss has demons who go around collecting stories of what happen in the world above and in the Abyss itself, and write them down, and even draw pictures of them. And they keep them in their journals, which are wicked enchanted tomes which store the secrets of the world above and dark and forbidden magics and that sort of thing."

"Yep!"

"And then at some point, they started publishing their journals, using demonic magic to copy the text into other books. And demons pay for this to happen, like a town crier but in written form. And... and there are journals which are mostly accurate and which get used by the lords of the Abyss to plan their invasions of the world above, and there are ones which just... just draw wicked and licentious pictures and just make up stories to amuse their readers?"

"That's why demons who do it are called 'journalists'," Jessica confirmed. "And there are even journals which aren't in books any more, but where the demons might read through a crystal ball or something and you can scry on plays and stuff. I've got one of those in my bedroom, usually tuned to one of the concert hall locations."

Louise shook her head sadly. "The Abyss is a very strange and wicked place," she said, "and to think that it has so much knowledge of the world above... it's scary."

Jessica grinned broadly, eyebrows arching up. "Wait until I tell you about the enchanted walls where the short prayers of cultists are displayed in burning runes!"

"Please don't," Louise said, her voice dry. "But... okay. The fact that I made them draw a line on my head is a good... a bad... a... a word-which-means-I-have-done-well thing?"

The dark-haired girl bounced up and down on her toes. "Oh yes! It's wonderful! Not only are you doing well, but look!" She jabbed a finger at the picture on the front. "Right in plain sight, for everyone to see! It's my work! Someone wearing something I designed and forged is headline news! And..." Jessica ruffled through the pages, "... we also made the fashion chapter! Eemogene... you wouldn't know her, but she's a really well-respected journalist who specialises in talking about such things... says that it's a daring fashion statement which crosses gender boundaries and imposes a quasi-feminine mystique on the harsh damn'd steel lines of the classically male fallen knight archetype! And that its 'ferrous feminist' style rejects heteronormative clichés and opens up whole new vistas of pansexual dominion with the gynocratic statement eminently clear!"

"Uh," Louise began, the strange forbidden words of the Abyss confusing her. She had just thought she was getting armour which protected her, and sort of looked like an evil version of Mother's. And didn't mean she was dressed in a slatternly way.

Jessica squealed in glee. "Oh, this is wonderful!" she said. "It's exactly what I was going for! Listen to this. 'In its unconventional colour choice which draws to mind male conquerors, the gender stereotypes are utterly violated. It is shameless in the way it flouts every proper standard of history; it is frankly antinomian in its deliberate refutation of thousands of years of overlady dress. I was actually shocked when I saw it, and applauded its provoctativeness! Indeed, the deliberate elements incorporated from the armour of no less than detested figure of Good Karina de la Vallière (49) is no less than a wake-up call that Evil is more than just the fripperies and tradition; it's about Dark Style. And this armour radiates it in hellish majesty. This is certainly one to watch; I'll be fascinated to see its effects on the Erberus Fashion show six months from now!'" The girl sagged down, fanning herself. "She... Eemogene actually thinks that my work might start a trend! It's... it's more than I could ever have hoped for! I... I think I'm feeling faint!"

Louise strongly suspected that the real reason the other girl was feeling faint was that she was forgetting to breathe, but... well, it was nice to see that she was enjoying herself. Even if she was using arcane words which Louise didn't understand, and wasn't exactly sure she wanted to know. She sent a minion to get some water, and refilled the tea cup in front of her guest, barely spilling anything at all.

Also, Jessica was looking decidedly handsome again, and so Louise felt it would probably be best to busy herself by seeing what the demons had actually said about her rather than staring at the dashingly handsome m... woman with the stubby horns protruding from her brow.

The words at the top, 'A New Power is Rising In The North' were pleasing, but the rest of the journal was... strange. It was like reading a story about herself, only... the details were wrong. She was pretty sure she hadn't duelled the comte de Mott on top of a burning building. She would have remembered doing so. And the speculation that she was one of his jilted lovers and that 'the comte's long and amorous past has caught up with him' was not pleasing at all.

"I'm technically not just here about this... oh, it's so amazing!" Jessica said, breathing deeply. "But I had to talk Dad into letting me do this. I also do have other things to do here, while seeing you. Firstly... oh yes, Dad gave me..." she rummaged in a pocket, passing a pamphlet to Louise. "It's our catalogue, of things that we've got in stock. It's enchanted to update; it's pretty cool!"

"Cursed blade of Aldama," Louise read out loud, "... the services of a succubus (nightly), an elven revolver (bullets not included)... Founder that's expensive... oooh, tomes of sorcery!" Eagerly, she began to scan down the list of magic books.

"We deliver straight to your tower of darkness," Jessica added, "for no additional charge as you're on our favoured client list."

"Lightning or more fire?" Louise said, not really listening. "On one hand, lightning. On the other, more fire."

"We also have bulk orders of things like sea-tarnished gold, obsidian, black marble, basalt and the like, though delivery may take up to twenty eight working days depending on order size and nature."

"Do I feel like a lightning person? That treacherous dog is famous for lightning, so maybe I should learn to beat him at his own game. But do I want to do that?"

Jessica cleared her throat, bringing Louise back from her happy lightning-and-fire-filled world. "And one more thing which Dad told me to tell you personally, and then also tell your funny goblin adviser person," she said. "He says he thinks he may be on the trail of one of the fragments of your tower heart, and he'll tell you as soon as he finds out. And he does expect to be compensated for his services, at his normal rate."

Compensated for his services. Oh. Yes. That bought Louise up short. Suddenly, all those ecús she had stolen from the corrupt and wicked Council who were totally embezzling the taxes didn't seem like enough. Some of these things alone... no! She also had to fund rebuilding the tower and... she'd need to have money for bribes and who knew about what kinds of expenses there were out there which she didn't know about yet!

Never had being rich felt so poor.

"Anyway," Jessica continued, "they've got even more pictures of you inside! And more commentary! And considering what it said... maybe you'd like to consider getting some dresses too! I mean, it's likely you'll start getting invites to infernal gatherings too as a young new black star of Evil, and presumably you don't want to go in full armour to all of them?"

Yes, Louise decided. This was going to be a very expensive period of her life.

It was early autumn, and the trees from the windows were losing their green luster and – this being a stinking swamp – falling off the boughs to rot, when Scarron came through. By now, areas of the interior of the tower had been resheathed, and there were far fewer holes in the floor. This had been paid for by several more raids against tax collectors and other such symbols of the authority of the Council, especially the properties of the late comte de Mott – which had been appropriated by the state.

In fact, there had been more than enough left over for a few rooms to be bought back into better operation. Her bedroom now no longer smelt of mould and had heating and a fire and proper wardrobes - with Jessica-made dresses in - and cushions and... it was wonderful! And the tower now had a bathroom very nearly as splendid as the one back at the Academy. The steaming pool within it which could have seated ten people. And only blue minions could bother her when she was in the baths, because other minions could – and did – drown when they fell in.

She was just wrapping herself in one of the fluffy blood-red towels when Gnarl barged in, carrying the message from the prince of the Incubi. "He's found where one of fragments of the tower heart, your evilness! We should seek to collect it as soon as possible."

Louise smirked. She already had worked out where it was going to be. It was obvious, in its own way. The Madam de Montespan had a reputation. Louise knew that, and had picked up even more from her oldest sister's rants about her rival which implied that she dabbled in... dubious territory. Yes, that might just be Eleanore's rivalry, but she _was _a horrible fiancé-stealing bi... witch. So put those things together, and logically she would be drawn to the fragments of the tower heart which had been stolen. For her sinister and treacherous experiments.

"So I'll prepare for a little trip eastwards," she said casually, trying not to grin too smugly at the prospect of revenge against Françoise Athénaïs de Mortemart.

"Quite so," Gnarl said. "Scarron has concrete proof that – as it seems you already suspected – the fragment was purchased around ten years ago by agents working for the Duke de la Vallière. Your father."

Louise blinked.

Louise opened her mouth.

Louise closed her mouth.

She finally managed a strangled, "What."

* * *

...


	15. Part 4-2

_"Sometimes unlucky things happen to good people for no real reason at all. That's just how the mean old world works, I'm afraid. But if you work your best, sweetie, and try your hardest, I'm sure you'll be able to push your way through everything and anything that stands in your way! Be nice to people and protect sweet innocent little girls from things which are mean and nasty, and I'm sure God will smile on you."_

– Cattleya Yvette La Baume Le Blanc de la Vallière

* * *

...

* * *

"My father," Louise said, feeling numb. "My father. Has... has the fragment of the tower heart."

It wasn't meant to be like this! It wasn't! If she had to confront her family – and Founder aid her, hopefully she would never had to – then it should happen at the end, once her restoration of Princess Henrietta was all but a _fait acomplis_ and she could explain what she had been doing and why. Every bone in her body cried out that that was true. To have it happen now was... not what should happen!

"The evidence appears to be concrete," Gnarl said, looking up from the package which had been delivered. "It was stolen from a Germanian alchemist who had been looking into using it for immortality by the count von Sankt-Germanus, a known associate of your father, and from certain fiscal details within, the money chain is clear." The minion sighed happily. "I will be sure to make sure of this, of course, which will require me to go over the papers with a rusty scalpel."

"Why does my father have it?" Louise screamed at the ceiling, impersonating an ironworks as she stomped up and down in her armour. "Why? What could possibly possess him to do something like that? Ten years ago, no less! It's not even as if he did it to thwart me right now, which would be understandable!"

Gnarl stroked his goatee. "Yes, that is a puzzler," he said calmly. "What could a known Hero want with a tool of such mighty and magnificent Evil? Well, we have to bear in mind the lamentable tendency for the Heroic sort to take Evil artifacts and want to lock them away safe from where the proper people can do Wrong with them. The Germanian alchemist was melting people down in acid and trying to make clockwork prosthetics made of gold and bone, and that kind of thing always draws the Heroic sort when they find out about it."

The overlady drew a deep breath, and tried to calm herself down. Yes, maybe that was it. Maybe it was just locked in the family vault, somewhere safe. That would be good, because she knew how her parents got into it.

"Of course," Gnarl continued, "the kind of Hero who does that does have a tendency to get corrupted or controlled by the Evil artefact in question. Either directly, which is always highly amusing..."

"Too true," Maggat said gleefully. "They say 'oh no, it controlling me, I can't help myself' when they attack their friendies, and then everyone cry when they killed. Well, that or they say 'ah ha ha, you all fools, now me see truth, there only power and those too weak to seizes it' and then there less crying when they get cut to pieces."

"First type funnier, but second type more effective for goal of Evil," Igni observed.

"Yes, indeed," Gnarl said, shooting a slightly annoyed glance at the younger minions.

"You see that a lot, do you?" Louise said bitterly, her fists clenched into balls. This was her father they were talking about.

"Oh, a fair amount, a fair amount," Gnarl said, hobbling over to the table to lift himself into his high chair. "It's a remarkably common thing for Heroic types to do. Over the years, you get used to it." He shuffled the papers noisily. "And there are so many things you can do with a fragment of a tower heart. They are Evil magical crystals par excellence. They are wonderful receptacles of souls; whether the tortured souls of your foes, or your own if you want to become a liche. They empower swords with black magic and boost a caster's spells by a lot, at the cost of twisting their elemental affinity towards Evil. And so on and so forth. It never ends happily for the person trying it, of course, if only because cutting up tower hearts to try to do that kind of meddlesome thing tends to destabilise them and then everyone near even a fragment dies in a horrific magical meltdown."

Ah. Well, in that case, Louise felt, she was doing Good by rescuing the fragment. No one wanted a horrific magical meltdown. But she had a lot to think about.

Louise cleared her throat uneasily. "This is a lot to take in," she said. "I'm going for a walk. I need... I need fresh air to clear my head. While you check that Scarron is not lying to me."

"Not too fresh, I hope," Gnarl said half-heartedly, his attention already drawn to the promise of paperwork. "Kill some bunnies for me."

* * *

...

* * *

It was cold outside the tower, and her breath steamed in the air. Winter had come early this year, the snows rolling in off the Great North Sea, and whiteness crunched under her metal-clad feet. It was hard to believe that in a few months time, it would be spring again and she would have been missing for a whole year.

She should have progressed faster. She should have spent more time taking down the Council, so she could go back to her family and not have to pretend to be evil and all sorts of things. But the comte de Mott had been a fluke! A fluke which had nearly killed her, and a fluke which would have escaped had her minions not stolen a ship.

She had wanted to go faster, but she had not been able to do so! The Madam de Montespan was ensconced in Amstreldamme, which was actually larger than Bruxelles, and the duke de Richelieu was holding the capital. And as for her treacherous ex-fiancé who was a witless degenerate cur... well, no one knew where he was. Some people said he was in Albion handling negotiations with the successful rebels there, others that he was doing hidden things with the army. How was she meant to punish him for his wrongdoings if she couldn't even find him!

They hadn't managed to get a proper replacement for the comte de Mott. That was something, at least. The crunch of snow under her feet was especially satisfying as she thought that. That man had – despite or possibly because he was a degenerate – been popular among the middle and low nobility, and had even been beloved by the peasantry. Which just showed the tragic lack of taste among most people. But still, his replacement on the Council was a grey yes-man. Louise couldn't even remember his name.

She might kill him at some point, but given that he seemed incapable of organising a... a drinking contest in a wine-cellar, that wasn't a good use of her time. His replacement might actually be competent.

Her wanderings had brought her to the rocky outcropping in the frozen-over swamp which she had started using as a practice area after she almost set an important bit of the tower on fire. Clearly her subconscious mind had been doing the thinking for her while she brooded. So while she was here, she might as well blow some things up.

It did sound like a rather good idea.

Soon the sound of breaking ice and sizzling rock filled the air, as Louise de Vallière took her frustrations out on the world around her.

Because she was very frustrated. She was having to go up against her family. Her parents... would probably kill her. And from some of the things Gnarl had said about the uses of fragments of a tower heart, she was getting increasingly worried.

It was looking not impossible that her parents might have dabbled in Evil magic. Which was _wrong_. They were her parents! They were Heroes! They shouldn't be doing things like that! And... and from what it sounded like, they could have done it to save Cattleya, to keep her alive! At least, they might have thought about doing it, because she was still sick.

Or they might have done something to her, to try to fix her problems with magic. And left her with this Evil magic which Gnarl kept on saying that he sensed in her. Wouldn't that be a laugh, in a totally-not-funny way? She would have been linked to this ruined tower for far longer than she would have known. All the problems she'd always had with magic, the way that her power only worked properly with these dark spells she'd learned now... her parents' fault?

Snarling, Louise threw two titanic balls of fire into a frozen-over swampy patch, the steam blast knocking her off her feet. Flat on her back, she stared up at the grey sky, letting the chill soak into her bones and sap her fury.

So be it.

Even then, she wouldn't march in and try to kill her parents. And not just because she'd lose. Because they were still her parents, and she didn't even know if it was true. No, she would be sensible. She wouldn't act like some idiotic dark lord who'd go and challenge Karina of the Heavy Wind to a duel and be cut to shreds.

She'd just... get the fragment. Without anyone knowing she was there. No melodramatic confrontation, no climatic duel, no her-being-killed-by-her-mother. Nothing.

The girl pulled herself up off the ground, and dusted the snow off her. Some tar-sticky globules of life energy were sitting around the crater in the swamp. Something had been living under there. Louise went around, her dark gauntlet absorbing the energy. She had rather a lot of it; she needed to find one of those minion-making artefacts that Gnarl had talked about so she could spend it. And also find a source of minions that didn't rely on finding goblin tribes to take captive. She was running rather low on them recently. She'd depleted most of the local ones.

Which was good, right, because it meant that people weren't being raided in this harsh winter. So she was doing a righteous thing. And so... really, making a horde of minions was the morally correct choice, because at least she – who was good and pure – was in control of the little blighters.

Panting, and feeling somewhat better for taking her annoyance out on the terrain, Louise looked up at the grey sky. Something moved up there; she shielded her eyes. There were black spots up against the clouds, but they were shaped wrong to be birds. And they were circling. Had something been drawn by her smashing?

Well, she knew what to do. In one hand, she summoned two balls of fire; in the other, she held lightning. If they got close enough to see her properly, they'd end up cooked.

And they did come flying in, to a sound of distant whineys. Wait. Whineys?

The girl stared at the small herd of winged horses, circling around her. They glared at her with their mad equine eyes.

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Louise sighed. "Really! Really? You too?"

Well, if they were going to attack her _anyway_, she might as well get to try out the lightning magic she had learned. The flying horses were asking for it. Why wouldn't these dratted ponies leave her alone?

* * *

...

* * *

"Woo hoo!" one of the minions called as they dragged in the charred bodies. "Fresh meat! Overlady is best overlady! Maybe beer monster attack her next!"

"That be good," another one agreed. "But steakie in winter always good for now."

"Me prefer it rare," a green whining, "and this burnt in bits."

Maggat slapped the shorter minion, sending him sprawling. "You ungrateful little whiner!" he shouted. "You so rude to overlady! She go get us meat, you complain? Well, no tasty horsie for you! I say, you go to duty torturer for being so rude! Right now!"

Louise raised her eyebrows at that, but nodded. It was good to see that the smarter minions were keeping order. "Right!" she demanded, as the roasted foals were dragged off, "Gnarl! Where are you?"

"Right here, your evilness," Gnarl said from behind her.

"Is the map room working at the moment?"

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. "I'm afraid not, your darkness. Something went sproing inside it again last Watersday, and the last minion to go inside got rather mangled. The blues had to put him back together before they bought him back."

"Then we will go to the backup map room!" Louise commanded.

The backup map room was one of Louise's innovations in the field of tower design. It was a room. With maps. And calendars. And a large fireplace. And comfy chairs.

It was revolutionary.

Louise sat herself down in a comfy chair, and called for wine. Then she steepled her fingers together, the metal gauntlets clinking. "I have a plan how to get in and scout out the estate without having to risk my mother. I know my parents," she said, flatly. "They aren't as social as some other people. But they're nobility, and they have obligations, to keep up standards if nothing else. My father will regularly go elsewhere to hunt with his old friends from the army, and my mother likewise has old friends and companions who she will visit. And then there are fetes and balls they have to attend, which involve going away from home."

The girl paused, frowning. "Ideally, the perfect date would be the Silver Pentecost, because they have an extensive visiting circuit and together are outside of the house. But that's probably too long from now. Well, it's a fallback date when I know that neither of them will be in the house. That'll mean that it'll just be the staff and Cattleya there, and she is sickly and spends most of her time in her room." Louise sighed. "And she's nice. And if she found me breaking in when she thought I was dead, she'd be more likely to die of shock than try to kill me."

She sighed again, trying to rid herself of morbid thoughts of her sickly sister. "She'll be in the house, of course," she said, "but she's always ill and can't even go riding without my father there to help her if she feels sick again. Bright light gives her splitting headaches, so she sometimes goes to the library at night and reads by candle, but still. She'll either be in her room, in the library, or in the music room, so she'll be easy to avoid. And Eleanore seldom comes home anymore, because she has rooms in Amstreldamme or stays in our townhouse in Bruxelles, so she won't be an issue. And the rest will be the staff, and they're just commoners."

One of the minions listening raised a hand. "So we no have to fight Karin?" it asked. "We only have to fight the bear carpet in her room? It not dead, you see; it just scared to move."

Louise drew in a breath. Louise let out a breath. "Yes," she said, eventually. "Except my mother doesn't have a bear carpet in her room."

"It escape?" the minion asked, sounding worried.

"Anyway," she continued, raising her voice and vowing to ignore that specific minion, "Gnarl, I assume there is some way for me to track a fragment of the tower heart, given that I control most of it? Possibly using the gauntlet."

"Got it in one, your maliciousness," Gnarl said happily.

"Wonderful," Louise said, lips parting in a smirk. "Then all I need to do is sneak in – on my own – when my parents have gone to another estate for a gathering. I go in, avoid the servants, and track where the fragment is stored. I can probably search all the estate in one night, when everyone is asleep. Meanwhile," she added hastily, "a crack force of minions will be waiting outside for my orders in case I need to do things like break into a vault I don't know the entry for."

There were grumbles of unhappiness from the gathered horde.

"After all," Louise said, glaring at them, "one of my primary roles will be to make sure my mother is not there. Of course, any minions who want to go into a building where Karina of the Heavy Wind could be will be considered for a special suicide squad."

There was a collective gulp.

"We not that crazy," a red said, speaking for all of them. "We not fear her. It not fear to be scared of Karin. It logic."

"I will go!" a familiar foul-smelling green declared. "I braver than all you lot! I go with overlady to scout for her and... and if the Karin is there, I hide and hope she not see me!"

"You stupider," Maxy snapped. "Fettid, you idiot! There no be blue in there. If you get killed or fall in toilet, you dead forever!"

"I willing to take that chance!" Fettid declared. "I not let overlady go into dangerous place like den of Karin without a minion to do looking for her!"

Gnarl stroked his goatee. "Much as I think little of Fettid's brains," he said, "I do believe he accidentally was correct. Your evilness, please consider taking him as a single green minion with you. They can pass unseen, and so he can do things like scout ahead of you and make sure that there is no one in a room. Not to mention that he does have a very good sense of smell. And if everything does go wrong; why, he'll be there to help with the backstabbing and murder!"

It was the backstabbing and the murder which worried Louise, frankly. She did not want any of the murderous little monsters who followed her to be let into her parents' house. There were breakable things in there, like expensive furniture, the serving staff, and her sickly sister.

Then again, if she relented here and let one in where she could keep an eye on it, she could put her foot down on the others...

"Fine," she said, "as long as you are quite clear that if the minion fails me in there, I will not hesitate to have him killed. _Permanently_. There will be no room for errors like... l-like casual murders, do you understand me?"

"Yep!" the minion said cheerfully.

Louise doubted it. Oh well. She'd make it learn, if push came to shove-down-a-long-flight-of-stairs. "So," she said, "in that case, I will use a... a secret entrance way which only I know about, and Fettid will come with me. I will explore the house, using the Gauntlet to search for the fragment. I should be able to check everywhere my father would probably put it in one night, which means that if it's not there, I'll need to come back and think again. Otherwise, I should be able to get it!" Yes, this was a good plan, and... hmm.

"The main issue for this is what I'll wear," she continued. "Don't laugh. I mean it."

"I don't see what's funny," Gnarl said.

"Yep!" Maxy contributed. "Clothing is deadly serious business. Very important."

Louise blinked. "Well, yes," she said, her train of thought derailed. "Uh. Well, you see, I should wear something so even if I get seen, it won't be too suspicious. That means the armour is right out, because everyone will find out if it's seen that the dark overlady who killed the comte de Mott is breaking into the de la Vallière estate. I'll need the gauntlet, but everything else stays behind... or stays with the minions who'll be waiting outside, just in case," she corrected herself. "Also, it's noisy. Which means I should probably get Jessica to make me sneaking clothes, in black, with... like, a hood and a mask and all sorts of things to help me not be seen."

Maggat crossed his arms. "Nah," he said, casually. "All you need is sheet. White."

"A white sheet. At night. When I am trying not to be seen." Well, even the smarter minions were technically still _complete and utter idiots_, Louise reminded herself.

"Yeah, Maggat is right," Maxy said. "You're dead, right-right? That mean if you wear a white sheet, you a ghost. So they'll go 'argh we be haunted by dead daughter' and it all be perfectly normal." He turned to face Maxy. "But it should be thin sheet for her, like see through, and thick for Fettid."

"True, true," Maggat said, pretending to stroke a goatee he did not have, before he yelped when Gnarl hit him over the back of the head with his walking stick.

"I don't believe what I'm hearing," Louise said flatly.

"Ah," Maggat said proudly, "but your evilness! I not think you see how super-smart we is! See, because you wearing a sheet which is all thin and stuff, humies see your face and realise you ghost!"

"And not get wary because not-see-through sheet make them think you just person mucking around in sheet," Maxy agreed. "Even when you is!"

The girl pursed her lips. She… why was she listening to them? What possible reason could she have for listening to… to this? It was madness! It was stupid!

"Please, no need to shout. And for why, because we is masters of dis-guys, overlady," Maggat said.

"We dis all _kinds _of guys," Scyl agreed. "Fetid even get married to giant once, because we have to steal magical hammer back from race of one-eyed giants. So we find beautiful lady and Fettid loot her hair and dress and then Maggat made me be priesty to conduct marriage."

"I was best man!" Igni said.

"They not suspect a thing," Maxy said, crossing his arms. "Well, at least until Fettid stab one-eyed giant when he asleep, and then when he ask who do this thing I call in 'no one' and then when giant's friends come in, they ask 'who do this to you' and he say 'no one'." Maxy paused. "Of course, then they say 'it no look like no one, it look like someone stab you' and giant say 'no you stupids her name was no one oh the pain the pain' and then they start looking for us when we trying to run away with hammer. So perhaps that plan could have gone better. But the disguise work perfect-like!"

Louise worked her jaw. Wait. She was certain she had read that one-eyed giants were both lusty and none-too-bright and – vitally – long-sighted. So… maybe it was possible that a giant with poor eyesight – and no sense of smell – could mistake a minion for a human woman. She wasn't sure _why _a giant would want a human woman because… well, the mind boggled. Possibly it had been trying to trick them to be able to eat her later because… well, they weren't that bright.

Satisfied that she had a plausible chain of events set up, Louise felt it was safe to pay attention to the conversation once more.

"... and in addition, your dark ladyship," Gnarl was saying, "you have been spending rather a lot recently and so we are running low, especially after we had to pay Scarron for the information about the tower heart. Which is to say, to be honest, a sheet is about all you can afford. You can always wear your black robe underneath, so it does not work you can discard the sheet and they will think you have vanished." Gnarl shook his head, sadly. "In the lives of all the great overlords, there always comes a time when they must break into a guarded place and not be seen. Many of them consider it a great annoyance which goes against everything they stand for. It is a good thing that you are taking this so well."

Sure. Why not? Why not buy into the madness? "Fine," Louise said grumpily. "In which case, all we'll need to find out is my parents' social schedule, and I can decide the best night to strike."

* * *

...

* * *

It was a cold, crisp night almost three weeks later as Louise – remarkably glad for her gauzy sheet because it kept her warmer – and Fettid snuck their way across the estate grounds of her family house. They had already made their way past the labyrinth and that pit with the strange red-brown stains at the bottom, and were passing some disturbing-looking statues when Fettid grabbed her by the hand and pulled her into a bush.

It was not a comfortable bush, and she got the distinct feeling that she would need to wash her hand after touching him like that. Sadly, it had been her ungauntleted hand.

However, his efforts had not been unprovoked, because, wuffling, a guard and his dog made their way past the bush, the creature sniffing the air. Louise peeked out, the crescent blue moon illuminating the icy landscape, trying not to breathe.

After an eternal moment, the dog moved on, and its handler followed. Louise waited for a little longer, and let herself exhale. She tried not to inhale too deeply though, because that was not something you wanted to do when you were sharing a bush with Fettid.

Then the two of them were on the move again; Louise keeping low and to the paths to avoid noise. The green minion was a blurred patch of air ahead of her, some kind of innate magic allowing him to simply... not be there. It was a very dangerous ability, she considered, and it would be even more dangerous if minions weren't idiots.

If only she could trust her greens to be able to spy on people without randomly breaking or murdering things, she could have an incredible spy network. But alas! They were thicker than a brick sandwich, with only occasional moments of base cunning to surprise her.

Under moonlight, Louise navigated to the old lilac tree on the south side of the house. Hitching up her robe around her waist, she clambered up the tree, branches shaking under her. Carefully, she inched out along it, until she could make her way over to the elaborately gargoyle'd mantle by the branch, and clamber over. She edged along the mantle, testing each slippery gargoyle as she went, until she found the right place.

Clinging on with her toes, the dark lady gave the window a thump right at the bottom, and it bounced slightly on its frame, tilting open. Louise grinned. Those times when she'd been locked out of her bedroom – and so not allowed to get to her books – had paid off. Working her fingers under the slight opening, she flicked the catch off, and leaned out of the way as the window opened. Then it was up and through closing the window behind her, making sure to softly whisper the magic words to prevent the alarm going off. She slithered through the window, ending up in a pile on the ground, and Fettid followed her through.

Her room smelt slightly musty, though considering the conditions she had been living in for most of the past six months, 'slight mustiness' was no great offense. It was going to acquire an odour d'minion if she spent much time here, anyway.

"Gnarl," she said into her gauntlet. "I'm in my room. No one saw us getting in."

"_Excellent, excellent,_" her advisor said, back in the nice warm tower. "_Do what you need to do._" He was probably sitting by a warm fire. She hated him. Just a little bit.

Fettid sniffed. "This house smell odd," he said. "Blood. Death. It smell a bit like bottom of tower. But old and stale. Not fresh."

Her family was meant to have been evil, long ago, Louise thought. And... well, it was true, her mother usually had been very insistent about having fresh flowers in the house, for as long as she could remember. That brought to mind the fact that there were normally scented candles kept on the side, and Louise went groping in the dark to try to find a tinderbox to light them.

"Oooh," she heard behind her, "I find treasure in here. Lots of clothes. I wonder what my colour is?"

"Don't loot my dresses!" Louise hissed, trying to keep her voice down. "They're mine!"

Fettid, insofar as a green-skinned wolf-cat-monkey-thing could look heartbroken, looked heartbroken. "Not even one?" he asked forlornly. "I promise to do exactly what you say!"

The overlady pursed her lips. "You may loot that blue one in the corner," she commanded. "The one with the horrible purple bow on it." She had grown out of it anyway, and blue had never really been her colour. She had preferred the pinks, the whites, the reds and the greys. It was almost as bad as that green monstrosity her mother had made her wear to her fourteenth birthday.

Hmm, that was a point, she thought, as she finally found the tinderbox. She could probably pick up some changes of clothes on her way out of here. It'd be cheaper than ordering them from Jessica, and it wasn't like she'd be found out by doing it. It'd just be blamed on the servants; everyone knew they stole clothes.

Picking up the tinderbox, Louise lit one of the candles, and turned around, lifting it high.

Oh dear.

Oh no.

There... there was a shrine set up on her bed. A painting of her, the one she'd had done at the start of her second year, just a few weeks before the abortive summoning, was propped up against the headboard, right where she would have rested her head. There were flowers, perhaps a day or two old sitting on the bed, too, and burned-out candles on saucers. And... and what looked to be prayers, handwritten sheets sealed with wax thumbprints.

Feeling as if she was in a dream, Louise stumbled over to her bed, and sat down on it heavily. She picked up one of the prayers, from the bottom of the pile. It was dated about a week after the summoning ceremony. It was for her safe return.

So was the next one.

And the next one.

And the next one.

Moving through the sediment of abandoned faith, her eyes began to blur as she got towards the top. They stopped asking for her return in... in a hopeful manner. Hope became desperation. Desperation was joined by prayers for her soul in heaven.

Eyes welling up, Louise de la Vallière blotted her eyes against her sleeve, the gauzy sheet she was wearing over her head getting damp. She was not the only one who had been crying. There were tear stains on some of the sealed prayers, too, and there was dampness on her bed.

"Oh Cattleya," she said, sadly. "I'm... I'm so sorry. I'm... please. It'll only be a little longer."

Louise took a deep breath, and squared her jaw. She stood back up, and straightened out the picture which had slanted slightly, putting the prayers back in order. She took a gulping breath, and turned to face the dress-wearing minion behind her who by now had made an impromptu hemline by ripping everything which was too long off.

"We... we need to move on," she said, sadly. "I... let's just find the fragment and get out of here. B-before. B-before I... before..." she wiped her eyes again, "before I get found by anyone."

* * *

...


	16. Part 4-3

_"Evil is everywhere in the world. The slightest awareness of the state of affairs, the merest awareness of history is enough to make this abundantly clear. The royal family swings between righteous purity and foulest depravity like a metronome, my dear husband's forefathers – including his mother and his father – were blackest villains, and even the Church seems to embrace corruption with distressing ease. Evil is how you act, and there is no excuse for Evil deeds. One is not Evil by nature; one is Evil by action, and no matter one's parentage or inclination, Evil does not enter the heart until Evil deeds are performed which taint the heart and soul. Everyone can be good, if only they hold onto a righteous will of steel and conduct themselves in the proper manner."_

– Karina de la Vallière

* * *

...

* * *

The light of the blue moon streamed in through the long glass windows of the hallway. In her soft shoes, ears open for the least noise, Louise de la Vallière padded through her ancestral home. A statue of a pointy-faced woman with her nose glowered at her as she passed, while beside her an oil-painted knight in black armour stood on a field of corpses. The busts and portraits of various ancestors stared down at her, judging her, watching her.

Of course, given some of the reputation her family seemed to have, they were probably approving in their judgement. They were not very nice people.

"Hey, is that tower?" Fettid said, pointing at the painting of a blonde woman wearing... uh, not much, standing in front of a black stone fortress topped by a pyre. "Nah, wrong stone. We used to have fire, though, before tower got knocked down. And she got gauntlet."

Louise examined that picture closer. Indeed, this woman – the name had been scored off – had a silver glove with prominent emeralds on it, which had been painted crackling with power. Louise's heart sunk as she compared her own face to the woman. They had the same button nose, she thought, feeling her own. And something about the eyes looked similar, too. Of course, she was fairly sure she never wore that expression of distant, imperious and somewhat sultry arrogance.

She also wore more clothing. Much more. She sincerely hoped this probably-an-ancestor of hers had died from a stab to the heart. Tassels were not protective!

"I'm not you," she whispered to the painting, before turning her back on it and continuing her way along to her parents' bedroom. It was up another flight of stairs, and she nearly stumbled into an annoyingly silent guard along the way. Only the small pool of light from his candle was enough to alert her, and she managed to dart back around the corner and hold her breath.

Her heart sounded like a drum in her ears.

He moved on, though, and she could breathe again.

"Should let me kill him. As warning," Fettid muttered.

"No killing," she commanded as quietly as she could manage.

"Aww. But I smell blood already," the minion whined. "Why can I no kill when other kill happen?"

"It's probably just the kitchens," she said, pacing over to her parents' bedroom and squeezing through the crack she opened up. Fettid made a small whimper of fear as he stepped over the threshold.

"I no can believe I am in the bedroom of the Karin and I is not dead," he breathed.

"Keep talking and you might be," Louise said, waving her hand around the room hoping for some response. "Gnarl? How should it feel if the fragment is nearby?"

"_Ah, your evilness. You're still alive,_" Gnarl said, with a little too much surprise for Louise's happiness. "_You should certainly be getting a warm vibration if the gauntlet is within twenty or so yards of the fragment. The stronger the closer, of course._"

"What's a yard?" Louise hissed, and blinked. "Oh yes, your silly thing that is almost a metre, but not as big. So... nothing in here... so it's probably not here. I'll look around a bit in here, and then head to the library. Touch nothing," she warned Fettid.

The minion folded its hands behind its back. "I get it," it said. "Also, the bear rug not here, so I need to watch out for it wandering around. I protect you from it."

Louise exhaled, and busied herself with looking for things which might inform her where a magical evil crystal might be. Sadly, although she found her father's diary on his bedside table, it was written in code. It was probably something he did just to keep some privacy in a room shared with her mother. And it was only the most recent one, and she had no idea where his older ones might be kept.

"Gnarl," she whispered, holding her gauntlet over the first page. "Can you decode this?"

"_Not quickly, your evilness,_" the voice said back, after a little humming to itself. "_And possibly not at all. Just at a glance, it does not look like it's a simple substation cipher; I can't see any pattern to recurring letters. And that vampire sold off all my decryption artefacts, curse his soul. You were too fast killing him._"

"Fine," Louise sighed, putting the diary back where she had found it. There was no point taking it. If it had been one from ten years ago... but not his most recent one. Also it was probably wrong to take your father's secret diary and read it. So she was being a good girl by not doing so.

So caught up in her thoughts and her search was she that she nearly missed the trail of footsteps outside and the candlelight painting a trail of orange light into the blue-lit room.

"Hello?" someone called from outside. "Is someone in there?" A snuffling. "What's that smell?"

Mercifully, Fettid did not answer 'yes' and had instead vanished to... somewhere. Which just left Louise standing in the middle of the room, desperately looking for somewhere to hide when the door swung all the way open to reveal a dark-haired, wide-eyed maid carrying a candle.

Louise stared at the maid.

The maid stared back at her.

"Woooo," Louise tried desperately.

The other woman squeaked.

"Uaargharh," the overlady added, in a fit of creativity. "Oooooo. Woooooooooo."

There was a scream in the dead of the night which echoed through the house, and the woman ran off. The building stirred to life, as people were drawn to it. Poking her head out the door, Louise could already see another maid with a candle who must have been close by, comforting the first. She couldn't get out that way. The wardrobe? No, that'd be silly. The other side rooms? No, they'd look there.

Her gaze drifted over towards the bed, illuminated in the blue light of the moon streaming in through the window.

* * *

...

* * *

"You must be seeing things!" the housekeeper said, holding a poker in one hand and a candle aloft in the other

"I know what I saw!" the dark-haired maid retorted, shivering like a leaf. "It... it was a girl! With pink hair! But pale like a corpse and… hazy and... and dressed in white and... it... sh-she moaned at me!"

"A pink-haired girl?" the other woman asked sceptically. "Are you sure it wasn't, you know... Miss Cattleya? Given that she is the pink-haired girl currently in residence?"

"No, no! Trust me, Miss Cattleya is bust... has larger... the girl was fl... it certainly wasn't Miss Cattleya! And she's retired for the evening, anyway."

The housekeeper stepped briskly around the room, checking the smaller rooms connecting to the main chamber and the cupboards. She even looked under the bed. "There's no one here," she said.

"I know what I saw," the maid insisted. "I feel the cold! It's... it's like icy fingers running up and down my spine!"

"It is cold in here," the housekeeper admitted, "but..."

There was a rasp of breath, as the butler – who had somehow managed to enter the room without being noticed - spoke. "What's all this then?" he asked, causing both the housekeeper and the maid to flinch.

"The chit thought she saw a figure in here and screamed, Monsieur Blanc, but I have looked around and found not one sign that..."

The maid looked uneasy. "I thought it looked like… like Mistress Louise" she breathed. "But... she's dead. So… it moaned at me... and..."

The butler cleared his throat. "Oh, don't worry then," he said kindly in his dry voice. "It'll just be a perfectly normal haunting then."

"Uh…" the maid said nervously.

"Oh, of course, you're too young," the old man said. "We used to have a fine collection of ghasts, spectres, haunts, geister, and pretty much any form of ghost you care to mention here. We got to know them, you know. The old master cultivated them, you know. Made sure his victims formed ghosts. And his wife… oh, she was a cousin and she was a wonder with them. Really knew how to work those torture chambers. Those were the times." The butler's face hardened. "Then his Good-for-everything son inherited along with that dreadful wife of his, packed the old mistress off to a monastery-jail and they went and wiped the entire collection out! It was dreadful!"

He nodded confidently. "Feel the chill in here? Sign of a good honest haunting. Oh, I've missed the feeling. Though," he added darkly, "Liza, you should probably clean this place up tomorrow morning. The ghast might have left blood or ectoplasm on the walls or slashed all the paintings or something like that, and it'd be a frightful shame if the master or the mistress went and hunted down the first ghost we've had in years. Smell the foul stench. A real sign of proper dark forces, that is."

"I'll get on it," the housekeeper said, peering through the darkness with her handle aloft. She seemed oddly cheerful at the news, and her earlier opprobrium towards the maid had entirely vanished. "Oh, my mother passed tales down to me of been ravished in the night by Don Juanito, that Iberian ghost who one of the family had horribly killed after she found him sleeping with her husband when he was meant to be her boy-toy. I was so looking forwards to that when I started working here. Shame."

"You know what they say about the family," the butler said, his voice dropping. "Don't trust 'em to stay dead, and don't think they're dead until you've got the corpse." The man grinned perhaps a little too widely. "Oh, the current duke's a softy who's letting down the family, but my father and grandfather and his father have all been in service here, and bein' haunted by a dead daughter is perfectly normal for the de la Vallières. I mean, this's Mistress Louise we're talking about. She broke things and blew things up in life; we're probably going to be seeing a rash of poltergeist activity! Good times, good times." He pulled out a key from around his neck. "Just to be sure, I'll lock the door and you can see to this in the morning."

The door scraped closed and there was a click as the lock was turned. And clinging onto the outside of the building next to the window, gripping onto one of the gargoyles for dear life, Louise gave a moan of frustration. They weren't meant to lock the door!

She was also rather irate that the da... the dratted idea of the minions that she should wear a sheet and pretend to be a ghost had _worked_, but that was a much lower priority to her than the prospect of a fatal fall. Oh, and when she had worry to spare about things, she'd need to remember to get angry at the butler for being an utterly horrible man and bad-mouthing her parents. When she got back home properly, she'd need to have him fired.

_Without _references!

But again, imminent death was more important. So. If she pulled herself up slightly and tried to reach the next gargoyle up, she could manage to slip on the icy surface, scream, grab the ears of the stone figure with both hands and then furiously scrabble with her feet as she tried to get a grip, any grip at all, to avoid her falling all the way to the ground.

That didn't help matters at all. In fact, it made them rather worse.

Oh, why wasn't she a proper mage who could use levitation spells? Why... why hadn't she thought to try to see if she could learn levitation spells instead of spending all her time practicing with fire and lightning? Maybe... maybe if she shot fire down at the ground when she fell, she might be able to slow her fall?

No, that was a stupid idea.

Founder. This was just an _embarrassing _way to die.

"Mistress!" Her pungent knight in shining... uh, an old dress of hers leant down from over the top of the gargoyle, ape-like arms reaching out. "Take hand! I get you out of this!"

Pathetically gratefully, Louise took its hand. Never before had she quite appreciated just how casually strong the little goblinoids were, because with one hand Fettid dragged her up, leaving her sprawling on the room. Quivering and panting, Louise clung to it, gripping onto the thankful solidity.

"Overlady not good at climbing," Fettid said cheerfully, dangling his legs over the side of the ledge.

"No," Louise gasped. "Overlady not." Raising herself up slightly, she pulled herself along the roof, away from the edge. "And overlady... I mean, and _I _think I need a way down."

"It a puzzler," the green-skinned minion said. "Normally, if I too lazy to climb, I jump off and let blue rez me at bottom, but blue no around and anyway the overlady no can come back from dead place without big Evil ritual and chanting and such things and humies start to rot when they come back from dead. Unlike minions. Well, unless we get nasty sickness. Usually best way to get over icky sickness is to die and come back. Much faster."

Louise could not help but contrast this nonchalance with the fear of death which was still filling her blood with fire and her mind with ice-cold spikes. "You know, I wonder what it's like being you," she said, idly. She thought. "It's probably a very stupid existence." She thought some more. "Yes, very stupid indeed... Fettid, stop trying to lever up my parents' roof tiles this instant!"

"I smell blood," Fettid sang, childishly. "It prob'bly because bear got loose and killed servants, so I get weapon to fight it with."

She sighed. Her heart was no longer pounding in her ears, and to the east, the red moon was rising. It was just as well, because the blue moon was moving behind a patch of cloud. She should probably get off the roof before it went away, because the red light was rather dimmer than the blue. How to get down? She pursed her lips. Yes... Cattleya always slept with the window open, because she needed fresh air because of her condition. And she had a balcony – which Louise had always been so jealous of, but now came in handy. If she made her way across the roofs to there... Cattleya should probably be asleep by now, and so she could sneak through her sister's room.

The fact that she would get to see her again, even if she was asleep at the time was not a contributing factor to why she had thought of it. Not at all.

"Come on," she ordered, beginning to work her way along the roof on all fours. "And catch me if I fall!"

It was a hair-raising trip over the top of the de la Vallière estate, made worse by the clouds which blotted out the blue moon entirely, leaving only the crimson light to make her way across the icy surface. It was not a moment too soon when she recognised the ivy-covered chimney which connected up to Cattleya's room. In the cold, its smoke was a welcome sight.

"Blood, bloodity blood blood," the green-skinned minion next to her sang happily. "Blood blood bloody, blood-blood, blood-bloodity. Blood, blood, blood blood blood, bloodity bloodity blood bloody bloody blood, bloody blood bloodity..."

"Shut it," she hissed. After enough repetition, the word 'blood' even stopped being a word and started just being background noise. Annoying background noise. "Do you want to wake her?"

"Oh, she awake," the minion said innocently. "Or at least there two women in room. I hears them."

"Drat," Louise muttered. That was that shot. Silly older sisters, staying up late. That was bad for her health! Why, if she wasn't technically breaking into her own house to steal an artefact, she'd give Cattleya a right telling off for putting her health in danger like this. "Well, there are rose trellises growing up to her balcony," she said, after a moment's thought. "It's winter, so the roses'll be dead, and I should be able to climb down. I'll... drat, drat, probably have to work my way around the building and go back in through my room, but it should be doable."

"Want me to help you down?" Fettid asked her.

"..." Louise did not say. "... fine."

Yes, she was definitely going to need to wash her hands, she thought, as the minion lowered her down onto the balcony by the simple expediency of taking her hand and leaning over the edge. It was just as well she was thinking that, because otherwise she might go quite mad because a smelly goblin had her life in its hands. She was remarkably happy to get down to the balcony, and in fact clutched onto the wall for a good few seconds.

She could hear voices from inside the room. Low and muttered; one of them was clearly Cattleya's, while the other was softer and rather less talkative. Louise just listened for a moment, warring with the temptation inside her. How long would Cattleya and... whoever it was, possible her maid... be in there? If it was the maid, maybe Cattleya was going to bed and she could sneak through in a short while.

Lord and Founder, she really wanted to see her sister.

Just a peek then.

Louise took her peek, and screamed.

"M-mother!" Cattleya stammered, whirling around to stare at the pink-haired figure in the window as the other girl on the bed squeaked. "It's not what it looks like!"

Louise severely doubted that. She was almost certain it was exactly what it looked like. Her sister had her head between the wide-open legs of another girl, who had her skirt rolled up to her waist. The girl – a maid by the looks of it – was slack-jawed and vacant-eyed. And there were fluids smearing her sister's jaw.

No, whatever Cattleya might say, it was _exactly _what it looked like.

Her sister had _certainly _sunk her fangs into the thigh of the other woman and had been drinking her blood.

"Cattleya!" she shrieked in horror and rage. "You're... you're... you're a..."

Her red-mouthed, sharp-fanged older sister stared back in fear and shock which almost equalled her own. "L-L-Louise!" Cattleya stammered, pointing at her sister with a quavering finger. "Y-you... are you a ghost? You're dead!"

"So are you!" Louise snapped back. "And I'm not a ghost! I'm just wearing a sheet! That's not important! You're the dead one here, not me! Undead is still dead! You're a bloody vampire!"

Her sister's eyes widened. "I am?" she asked. Hurriedly, she rummaged through her pockets, and pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing at her mouth. "Is it gone?" she asked, nervously. "I really can't tell. Sorry, but mirrors don't work for me and…"

The sheer surreality of the situation managed to momentarily quench Louise's wrath. "It's gone," she conceded. "But… but you're still a vampire!"

* * *

…


	17. Part 4-4

_"Some might ask how one can find the most evil, the most wicked, the most sinful and depraved of women. It is quite simple. My personal studies of faith and of the souls of that inferior sex has revealed to me that all the most degenerate women are poorly endowed, and so the righteous surround themselves with those who are full in the chest. The reasons for this are twofold. Firstly, it shows that the Lord God has not smiled upon them, reviling them for their evilness. But also, it is a simple matter of anatomy. You see, in a well-bosomed woman, the largeness of her chest draws evil away from her heart, where it taints not her thoughts, while in one who is less endowed it is compressed and malignant. Naturally, one can only judge an adult by this, but have you not seen how children are malicious and sinful unless beaten? And of course this does not apply to men, who are not subject to the lustiness of women."_

– Pope Aegis X, 'Lectures on the Wickedness of Women, Part XVI

* * *

…

* * *

The two sisters made a strange tableau. On one side, Louise, eyes burning yellow-pink, was wearing a gauzy sheet over her comfortable dark clothes. On the other, a decidedly dishabille Cattleya was clad in a skimpy nightgown, eyes a dull crimson, fangs bared in shock. The two sisters looked similar, but Cattleya was more rounded, more curvy compared to Louise's more angular figure.

"W-wait, so you're not a ghost?" Cattleya asked carefully, before breaking into a pointy-toothed smile. "Oh, Louise, I'm so happy for you! Oh, unless you're a ghost who's lying to me about not being dead, or you don't know that you're dead. But even if that's the case, I'm still really happy you're choosing to haunt me! Don't worry, I'll try to explain everything to Mother and Father! They've come to a way of handling me safely; I'm sure they won't mind having another dead daughter!"

She paused for breath. "Well, of course they'll be very sad and unhappy that you passed away, but still! At least ghost-hood isn't as bad as having to put up with drinking the blood of the living, so there's that! Also, I think you'd technically be another undead daughter, but still! Do you remember how you died?"

Hmm. It certainly appeared to be Cattleya, as opposed to a horrifying fiend out to consume the blood of the living in a tormented mockery of life. And... Louise's knees felt like jelly, and she sagged, grabbing the window frame for support. "Mother and Father... know?" she whispered. "They're... they know and... they're fine with it?" She paused. "Also, no, Catt, I'm not dead and... they're fine? How can they be fine? You're a vampire! That's not fine at all! That's the opposite of fine. That is un-fine."

"Well," Cattleya said, sitting herself down on the bed and straightening out her nightgown, "no, they're not fine. Louise, please, sit down, I don't want you to fall down and hurt yourself. You're alive, you say? So either you don't remember how you died, or you... just have been gone for nearly nine months!" Cattleya blushed. "Louise! Did you get... is there a child? Is that why you were gone for nine months? Do I have an adorable little niece or nephew and when do I get to meet them? Oh, this is wonderful! Have you picked out a name yet? Can I help?"

Louise would have massaged her temples if she had not currently been using her hands to keep herself upright. She was starting to remember one of the more difficult elements of talking with Cattleya when she got a 'good idea' into her head. "No," she said hotly, "I did not get pregnant! And I'm not dead! And I'm not a ghost!" She cleared her throat. "I... I... uh, ended up as a dark lady of a ruined tower after I ran away after my summoning and I've been trying to overthrow the Council of Regents and restore Princess Henrietta to her rightful position and... uh..." she trailed away.

Wow. When she put it like that – and this was the first time she had really said it out loud – it was very... uh… _very_. It was full of veryness. Veryness abounded.

"Oh." Cattleya's voice fell. "That's going to be rather harder to explain to Mother than you just being a ghost." She paused, realisation dawning. "You're that overlady in the north, aren't you? The one who killed the comte de Mott!"

"That's why she can't find out, Catt! And why you weren't even meant to see me and... and it's your fault for making me scream because you're a vampire! Why are you a vampire? _How_ are you a vampire? How long have you been one?"

Cattleya sucked in a breath. "Define 'vampire'," she suggested. "I mean, it's kind of been getting worse for years, but it all started about ten years ago when I got bitten by Louis de la Vallière, called by some the Bloody Duke, because Eleanore had raided his tomb and disturbed his rest."

"Ten years ago," Louise said flatly. This had to be related to how her father had obtained the fragment ten years ago! It had to be! "Eleanore did _what?_"

"Raided the tomb of our... is it five greats, or six? Well some-number-of-greats-grandfather," Cattleya said. "During the holidays, back when she was at the Academy, she broke into the tomb of Louis de la Vallière, broke the wards on his grave, and... well, she says she didn't take anything and was just curious, but I have my doubts." Cattleya pouted. "Mother and Father very nearly disowned her for doing that."

"Louis... Louis," Louise said slowly. It was familiar. And not just because it was the masculine version of her own name. "I've heard Gnarl mention that name."

"It's not surprising. He's the source of the royal blood in the family, and was utterly, utterly horrid. Before him, the de la Vallière family wasn't that bad," Cattleya said soberly. "I mean, yes, there were occasionally nasty people, but nastiness sadly happens among the nobility. But Louis de la Vallière was a bastard son of the king, and he was wicked to the bone. Worse than his father, and since his father was Charles the Vile that was horrible indeed.

"But Louis de la Vallière was clever, cunning and ambitious; a real cut above the petty wickedness of his peers. His mother – who wasn't a nice woman herself – passed the duchy to him and went to live in a monastery when he was twenty. And he kept things looking mostly normal. Except slowly the land got sicker and sicker. Orc and goblin tribes started occupying those lands near the Germanian border. The dead started rising and he would ride out and 'destroy them'… but only after his lesser noble tenants had been ruined and had to take loans from him. There were famines in the bad weather, and in some remote villages they had to turn to cannibalism… and well, you know how people who do that become ghouls. His children took after him in temperament, too."

Louise paled. "And Mother and Father named me after him?" she asked in disbelief.

Cattleya shook her head. "No, I think they just liked the name 'Louise'," she said. "Or maybe they were trying to redeem the name." She raised an eyebrow at her little sister. "That… uh, may not quite have worked. I think I wanted them to call you 'Henrietta', but that was mostly because that's what they'd just called the princess. And Eleanore wanted a little brother." She shook her head. "But yes. Father found out everything he could about him, because he basically had him as an example of what-not-to-do.

"At some point, the Bloody Duke turned his dabbling in necromancy using water magic into handling raw Evil, according to Father. And then to avoid death, he went out and hunted down the biggest and nastiest vampires he could find, and then made them fight and eat each other to find who was the most powerful one of them. And then became a vampire, and killed and ate that vampire. And then some other vampires he'd found to steal their power. And also some demons, dragons… pretty much everything he could to try to get even more power."

"That's… horrible," Louise breathed.

"_That certainly is,_" Gnarl said in her ear gleefully, revealing that he had been listening in to the conversation. Louise had a nasty feeling she would be hearing more on this subject from him when she got back to the tower, it sounded like the sort of vile atrocities he liked. And the dratted Jester would probably taunt her about it, too. Something like 'Heir to a Proud Legacy' or some insufferable stupidity like that.

"So..." Cattleya continued, not noticing the way Louise's right eye was twitching slightly, "at some point he got torn to shreds by an angry werewolf, but... uh. He didn't die properly. Or whatever the proper word is; I'm not sure. Some kind of dark working he'd carried out, anchored in something of a terrible evil, meant that even being reduced to ashes didn't kill him properly. He had bound his soul so tightly to his body that it could never escape, Father says. Feeding off life energy of the world around him. Or something like that. Father says he's been trying for years to kill him properly, but all he can do is keep him trapped. And that's the same way he stops the Bloody Duke from controlling me."

Something of a terrible evil. Oh dear. But wait... no! Her father had _bought _the fragment of the tower heart ten years ago. The overlady began to nibble on the fingernails of her left hand as she thought, moving into the room properly to warm herself by the fire.

"Louise," Cattleya scolded her, "don't bite your nails."

Louise took her fingers out of her mouth. "Who's this?" she said, pointing at the girl on the bed who had been lying there silently, staring at her.

"Oh," her older sister said, "that's my maid. She helps me with all _kinds _of things."

"Like feeding," she said flatly.

Cattleya blushed. "Well, not officially."

Louise stared suspiciously at the dull-eyed girl who was looking incuriously at her. "Did you use evil vampire magic on her to make her like that?" she demanded. "She should be more surprised to see me!"

Cattleya's eyes widened. "No, of course not!" she said, sounding offended. "Anne was kicked in the head by a donkey when she was little, poor girl, so she's simple. Mother and father assigned me her as a maid because she doesn't ask questions and doesn't get suspicious about the little things, like the fact I don't have a pulse when she dresses me. I mean, she knows, but I'm not entirely sure she understands. And most mornings she has to work out how to heat up water from scratch. But she's very sweet and caring and she likes my animals. And it's good to be taking care of someone this unfortunate." Cattleya smiled, showing just a hint of fang. "She's very huggy indeed," she said.

"And the blood drinking," Louise said flatly.

The older girl coughed, sitting by her maid and stroking her brow. "I... ahem... would get in rather a lot of trouble if Mother found out about that," she admitted, tapping her index fingers together. "I'm... sort of not allowed at all to do that. I'm only allowed animals. But Mother only checks the neck and the arms and the torso for bite marks. And I am very careful when doing it, and Anne doesn't mind, do you?"

The girl shook her head. "I like Miss Cattleya," she said, softly. "She is nice. Not like men."

"Yes, some men were being... unkind to my little sweetums," Cattleya said cheerily. "Then I found out, and would you believe it, two of them found God and joined the church and the other ran off to join a travelling show! Well, they did. I can't imagine why! Strong strapping men like that wouldn't be scared by... why, by pretty much about anything. Strangely enough, quite a few of the men in the surrounding villages who have been unpleasant to my little birdies - and anyone else who has been cruel to animals - have had some dreadful frights which had led them to righteously change their ways. Which is jolly nice of them, I think." She grinned. "It really gives you hope for the decency of humanity, doesn't it?"

Louise giggled. Her head was still swimming at the revelation, but... Cattleya was still Cattleya. She'd only not known about this before; her sister had... well, that was the question.

"How did it happen?" she asked.

"What?" her sister asked.

"The whole v-... v-word thing," Louise said.

"Ah," Cattleya said, eyes narrowing momentarily. "Well, I'd actually expected to have to tell you earlier – Louise, you're kind of inobservant, you know – so..." she got up, and recovered several sheets of paper from under her bed, "... I prepared these!"

* * *

…

* * *

It is a dark and stomy night. Through storm-wracked clouds, a full moon shines down, deep red and bloody, casting the world into crimson hues. Outside, a wolf howls. And hark! Through yonder window we see our heroine – innocent, beautiful, naive – tossing and turning. It is the height of summer and the muggy heat of the darknight storm is intolerable. If things would but cool down, it would be more tolerable, but it has been sweltering in the day and the rain brings only frightful humidity.

She kicks off her covers, rises from her bed. With her wand she – so proud is she of this little spell – lights up her room with a wavering light, and makes her way over to the window. A puppy sleeps on the floor; graceful as a cat she steps over it. Dramatically, chest-heaving, she throws the shutters and the windows wide open. The air is moist, smelling of rain, and she sighs in happiness at the welcome relief, before returning to bed.

And what is that? What terrible tenebral terror, a transient trick treading on tremulous toes, takes a some-other-word-beginning-with-'t' path up to the window of our fair maiden? What gleaming eyes glow hungry in the dark, what barbarous fangs catch the light?

(That's the baddy, by the way.)

Under bloody-hued moon his shadow creeps along the wall, a patch of darkness in a red-cast world. Something fluttered in the dark, and then the man – pale, sunken-eyed, a veritable walking corpse with long fingernails and teeth – is in her room, standing in the window. His shadow is cast over her sleeping form. Slowly, he approaches.

He also kicks the puppy out the window. What a dastardly scoundrel! And the yelp wakes our brave rosy-haired damsel, who looks up in horror at the charnel monster which looms over her.

"Oh no!" the fair maiden says, clutching her hands to the bosom she does not in fact have, because she is, you know, ten. And then she screams.

The beast descends.

* * *

...

* * *

Louise stared at her sister from her seat on the bed next to her. "Is that really what happened?" she asked accusingly.

"Well... more or less," Cattleya admitted. "I mean, I was ten at the time and it was really scary, but I think that's pretty much what I remember. I might have elaborated on things a bit. I'm not actually sure myself, because after it started happening I got frightfully weak and started seeing things that weren't there."

She shifted, slightly uncomfortably. "Also, I got a bit carried away writing that and so it sort of leaves out that it wasn't just one time. He kept on taking more and more, night by night. Father eventually noticed the bite marks when I started getting very, very sick and started getting cravings for raw meat. You might remember when I collapsed at dinner?"

"No," Louise said.

"Well, you were six at the time. That was when he found out, anyway. And then he sent Mother away to get something he thought might help while he spent all his time around me, trying to make me stronger, but… well, by that point I was half-dead already and very, very sick and vampirism fights normal healing magic, even from a square-class. He could stop me getting any worse, but…" Cattleya shrugged. "By the time Mother got back from whatever she was doing, I was barely hanging on."

Cattleya's voice was desperately sad when she continued, "And then... well, when Mother and Father went out to do what they had to do to bring the Bloody Duke under control, trying to stop the sickness by killing the one responsible, I... slipped away some time in the night. By that I mean 'died'. Or undied. And they didn't even managed to kill that horrid, horrid man!" she added, eyes burning crimson. "I mean, not permanently. Mother said that she sliced him up into lots of little bits, sort of like Germanian sausage, but he just reformed. I mean, this is Mother we're talking about so she just did it again, but still."

The maid, Anne, sat up and draped herself around Cattleya's shoulders. "Don't be sad, Miss Cattleya," she said quietly. "It isn't fun to be unhappy."

The hug seemed to calm her down a little. "Well, that was the end of my life metaphorically as well as literally," she said. "There was no way I was going to get to go to the Academy, and they started putting around the story that I had come down with a wasting sickness. And they had to call off my marriage, and rearrange things so you'd be marrying Jean-Jacques instead of me."

Louise went limp. "My... the marriage... it was a lie?" she said weakly. "I... I was second-best?"

"There, there," Cattleya said, wrapping a slightly chill arm around her head. "I'm sorry you had to find out and our parents weren't going to mention it, but yes. You were just six, remember? They'd arranged the marriage when he was fifteen and already a square-ranked prodigy, and I was nine. Then when I was ten, I ended up like this, and they had to scramble to talk him into accepting their six year old instead." She grinned, sadly. "I'm fairly sure you got a rather larger dowry than I would have," she said. "And having grown up... I don't think I would have been happy with a man like him anyway. He's too militaristic and too hard. Of course, you lost him too, because everyone thought you were dead."

Louise sniffed. "It's just..." she said weakly, "... everyone was lying to me and... and... it's not fair and..." she snivelled. "I didn't mean to spend so long away," she said weakly. "I ended up trapped in a tower with a really horrible vampire who I... uh, killed when he tried to kill me and then I accidentally collapsed the entrance and... by the time I got out, it had been months and Princess Henrietta had been arrested and... do you have _any idea _how long it's been since I've been able to talk to a normal person? It's... not fair." She glanced at her still-upset sister. "And Cattleya! Poor you! Oh, it's not fair on you, either. I shouldn't be turning it into being something about me. It's... just so much so quickly and I've missed you so."

Something in her was screaming that she was an idiot to let a vampire have an arm around her neck like this and that they were just blood sucking monsters, like the one who had killed the child back in the tower, but... but...

... this was Cattleya. And from what she'd said, as long as she could remember, Cattleya had been like this. She just hadn't known.

Plus, she was a fully-fledged, regent-killing dark lady. She... she probably counted as a worse person than a vampire who didn't kill people.

"You're jolly right it's not fair on me," Cattleya said, a note of steel entering her voice. "I hate this dratted state of affairs. It's a load of sugar and... and I know our parents are right, but Founder! Some nights I have had it up to here with this flipping sugar and just want to go out and open up some throats." She paused. "Which would be wrong and so I don't do it," she added. "If you really did kill a bad vampire, then I'm proud of you, Louise. I try very hard to be a good person, even when I'm utterly _sick _of cow blood night after night. And so sometimes I'm a little weak and indulge in a few mouthfuls when Mother isn't here, but that's all! I know it's wrong and I feel awfully guilty about it! And Mother would kill me."

"Me too, if she knew what I was doing," Louise said, with a bubbling hiccup. "I... I spend a lot of time feeling guilty about the things I do." Not as much time as she really should, but perhaps Cattleya didn't precisely need to know that. Anyway, she wasn't a vampire and was doing the things she did to save Henrietta, so that made things different.

"What are you doing here?" Cattleya asked, curiously. "Oh yes, Anne, please go and make some tea for my guest." Slowly the other girl unwrapped herself from Cattleya, and shuffled off. "That'll keep her busy for at least five minutes while she tries to remember where the kettle is kept in the maisonette," the older girl said quietly.

"I could do with some tea," Louise agreed. "I... I used to not drink much of it, but the minions like it and there really... there really isn't much else to drink if you don't want to drink wine that's probably made of mushrooms. And I don't trust the water if it's not boiled."

"Poor you," Cattleya said. "I suppose that's a bit of living in a dark tower which the stories always miss. I mean, I suppose it's easy for the established forces of Evil who have money and the like, but you sound like you're working from a rather lower class of evil base."

Louise nodded sadly. "Lord, yes. It's bad at times." She shook her head. "As for why I'm here... I think it might be related. You see, there's a fragment of the tower heart... which is a giant crystal thing at the centre of the tower which does things like lets me teleport to places... which Father apparently got his hands on ten years ago and... well. According to the books I've read, if a tower heart gets too damaged, it – and all the bits taken from it, no matter how far away – blow up in a horrible magical explosion." She paused. "There were pictures. They were scary."

"Well, we certainly don't want that!" Cattleya said firmly. "Horrible magical explosions are never a good sign." She paused. "Except when they're done by good people, of course," she added, and crossed her arms. "I suppose I should help you look for it. In the name of avoiding horrible magical explosions. And if it was part of what happened ten years ago... you know the secret lake?"

"Oh yes," Louise said, a glimmer of hope in her voice. "That was my special childhood place, you know. I have a lot of fond..."

"Well, the marble building on the island in the centre is the mausoleum of Louis de la Vallière, so it'll be there." Cattleya paused. "Or is it a tomb? Or an ossuary? I'm sorry, for one of the living dead I really don't know my way around tombs! I just sleep in my room with soil under my mattress and thick curtains."

... well, that was a bunch of childhood memories ruined, Louise didn't have the heart to say. Though at least she now knew why whenever she had tried to row a boat over to the island at the centre of the lake, the current had mysteriously picked up and pushed her away. Clearly, that was part of the warding on the island.

"Well, then," Louise said instead, "I'll gather up the minions I left outside, and you and I can go see."

"Wonderful!" Cattleya said, clapping her hands together. "I'll go get a weapon, then! I think that's traditional!" Rising, she made her way over to the door and stepped out for a moment. Morbidly interested, Louise followed her. Stretching up onto her tiptoes, Cattleya lifted a large double-handed sword off the wall and hefted it, testing it in first one hand and then the other, before returning to the room.

"… isn't that a little heavy?" Louise asked dubiously, staring at her big sister hefting a sword which more resembled a bulky spear than it did anything a lady might use in one hand.

"A bit," Cattleya said. "Do you think I'm out of shape? I'm sorry, but exercising makes me hungry! And it wouldn't be morally righteous to do that! And I just hate when I get too hungry and accidentally kill a bird!"

Louise stared. "Catt," she said bluntly. "It's the same height as you are, and made of solid steel. It… it probably weighs a tonne or something!" She squinted in the darkness at the plaque under where it had been hanging. "God only knows what kind of a person used it in the first place."

"Wolfgang von Zerbst. 'Thought to Try a Frontal Assault: Rest in Pieces'… that's 'pieces' as in chunks," Cattleya said helpfully. "My night vision is really good." She coughed. "Uh… but I already had that memorised." She looked sad. "There's not much you can do during the nights and I've already worked my way through most of the interesting books in the library. I really miss daytimes. I mean, we're pale anyway, but I start burning in seconds."

"Do you even know how to use that thing?" Louise demanded of her, as there was a clattering from the adjoining room as the maid hunted for a kettle.

Cattleya blushed. "No," she admitted. "I was mostly thinking that I just hold it at the blunt end and hit people with it as hard as I can. Or possibly stab people with it." She smiled shyly before glowering in a manner not dissimilar to a peeved kitten. "I mean, it's really long and heavy, so even if I don't aim well, it should still be enough to get revenge on the… the horrible person responsible for doing this to me." Cattleya coughed. "I mean, you know evil magic, right?" she asked, hopefully. "Could you maybe – if you got a look at it, of course – work out what Louis de la Vallière did? Maybe even undo it? So I can kill him properly dead?"

Ah. So it appeared that Cattleya's motives were not entirely pure for helping her. Or maybe they were. From what she had said, Louise suspected anything you did which would kill her vampiric ancestor probably counted as a pure deed.

"I can try," she said, warily.

"_I'll get looking in the library,_" Gnarl said in her ear. "_See what might be done. That kind of magic sounds very interesting indeed, and more than a little familiar. And we don't want someone like that getting free if you have to take the tower heart fragment. Why, he would be a rival!_"

"You said minions?" Cattleya continued, breaking her reverie. "What kind do you have? Are they vicious? Malicious? Dreadful vile seductive demons who break all sense of what's right and wrong?"

"No, that's my tailor. Well, her and her father," Louise said without thinking. "Especially her father."

"Hmm," Cattleya said, sounding peeved. "Well, you shouldn't be associating with such sorts. There is such thing as standards."

"Fettid!" Louise called out, as an answer. "Please show yourself!"

There was a blur of air, and it was suddenly revealed that he had been sitting on the mantelpiece all along. Louise felt in retrospect she probably should have noticed it, because the fire had been burning with a blue corona.

A high pitched noise split the air, emerging from Cattleya as she caught sight of the minion, and it was only after a moment's thought that Louise realised that it was not, in fact, a noise of fear. "Who's this little lady?" the older girl said, staring at Fettid. "She's so cute!"

Louise stared askew at her sister. There were many words she would use to describe a minion, especially one of the green-skinned variety. Among them were 'stupid', 'smelly', 'violent', 'malicious'… well, if she listed them all, she would be here all night. But most certainly, most concretely, in no way whatsoever at all was 'cute' among them. "That thing is Fettid," she said. "It's one of my minions."

"You mean there's more of them? She's so adorable! She's even wearing one of your old dresses!"

"Yes. That she is. She stole it." Louise blinked. Why was she referring to Fettid as a 'she', anyway? Minions were, to the best of her knowledge, probably 'he', and to find out more would involve checking under the loincloth which was something that no sensible being would want to do.

"Well, we have you and we have me and I have a sword and you have a horde – or so you tell me – of the cutest, most adorable minions around," Cattleya said enthusiastically. "So... let's be on our way to see if your magical crystal thing can be found in the tomb of the sugarhead who's responsible for me being like this! And we can catch up more along the way... I've missed you so, so, _so _much, little sister!"

Louise raised her hand. "Can... can we wait until the tea arrives?" she asked, hesitantly. "I've been up since dawn getting here, and I think it's catching up with me. And it was cold up on the roof and I need warming up."

"We certainly can," Cattleya said cheerfully. "It'll give me time to change, too. Change into something which isn't my favourite nightgown. Not change into a bat or a wolf or a mist. Though... Louise, mind carrying a change of clothes for me just in case I do have to do that?" Cattleya threw her wardrobe wide open. "What do you think I should wear?" she asked her little sister. "You have more experience at this kind of thing?"

"Uh." Louise blinked as she leant towards the fire, warming herself. "I normally just wear my armour. I'll change into it later... oh Founder." She shuddered. "It's going to be _freezing_. It's been out in the cold all night."

"I mean, I'm a vampire hunting," Cattleya said, "but we're also hunting a vampire. So should I dress up like a hunting vampire or a vampire hunter?"

Louise cocked her head. Two images came to mind. One involved velvet, décolleté, and general indecency. The other involved hard-faced men in leather with crossbows and stakes.

"The second one," she said as quickly as she could.

* * *

...


	18. Part 4-5

_"All right! We've got them pinned down inside the burning building! Which was set on fire! By us! So right now I'm going to go in there and hit them hard! In fact, I'll hit them like the impact of the imperial knights at the battle of Wissenberg, as the man pretending to be a bishop said to the mother superior of the nunnery! And that man was me! Rrraawr!"_

– Markgraf Blitzhart von Zerbst

* * *

...

* * *

"You know the saying 'I'll just go slip into something more comfortable?' This? This is not more comfortable!" the plaintive complaining arose over the night's chill. Louise's breath was steaming in the cold. Cattleya's was not.

The two sisters had slipped out of the window and made their way across the icy grounds of the de la Vallière estate, to where the minions were waiting. Small goblinoids swarmed around, putting on her armour by consensus. There was a distinct aroma of roast chicken around the place she had left them, which just made Louise hungry. She really should tell them off for stealing chickens, but frankly she had more important things to worry about at the moment.

"This is the opposite of comfortable! I can feel the cold metal through my padding! And I'm just glad that there's padding... well, I'm always glad, because I'm sure it would rub me raw if there wasn't, but now I'm doubly-glad because this? This is freezing!"

"Poor you," Cattleya said sympathetically, watching as the minions helped fasten up the buckles and straps on their mistress' plate armour. Louise's older sister was wearing a long hunting coat which had been passed down from their mother, fastened up tight, as well as a broad-brimmed hat which had to be twenty years out of fashion. Louise had been worried about what she was going to put on when she had vanished into her changing room, but for once her worst fears had not come to pass. Although she wasn't quite sure where the hat was coming from. "I'd give you a hug and warm you up, but... uh, I'm about as warm as the outside air which is fine when I'm in my warm room, but isn't so good here. Still, Anne used the spare water for a hot water bottle, so I'll pass it to you once it's done."

"That's a... no, you stupid beast, put down that fireball! Put it down right now! I don't want to be warmed up like that!" Louise drew a breath, after remonstrating with her underling. "That'd be lovely," she said, thankfully, before narrowing her eyes. "I'm sure I remember you having warm hugs before, though."

Her older sister blushed under the light of the red moon, rising up the east. "That would... uh, be two... well, three things," she admitted. "It took a few years for me to lose all body temperature. But after that, it was a mix of hot water bottles under my clothes and the fact I get a hot flush for a few hours after a large feeding."

"Oh," Louise said, as her pauldrons were fastened up. Well, another childhood memory ruined. "So your lovely warm hugs were..."

"... built on hidden hot water bottles and cow's blood, yes," Cattleya said. "I hadn't even had a mouthful from Anne before you interrupted, so it's gone by now. It's a shame. I was looking forwards to that for days. I daren't do it when mother or father are in the house."

"Well, that explains how no one else could be the same," Louise said wearily, ignoring her sister's haemophagia. "It was... ow, drat you! Watch my hair!"

"Oooh, mistress is gonna get you in so much trouble later," one of the reds said, nudging the unfortunate blue who had got a lock in a clasp. "Helmet, mistress?"

Louise coughed. "I'll... I'll just hold it for a while," she said, gathering up the piece of cold metal. "I... I don't want anything to obstruct my vision or hearing while we're trying to avoid the guards."

"Oooh!" Cattleya said excitedly. "I could knit you a little hoody to wear under it. And it would be all snug and keep your ears warm."

"That'd be nice," Louise said, gritting her teeth as she, clanking somewhat, worked her arms. "Loosen the left pauldron," she commanded. "I can't move my arm properly and... tighten it a bit... okay." She bent down and picked up her staff. "Right!"

Cattleya cracked her knuckles. "Right! Or was I meant to say left? I don't know... you're the one with the experience at this whole 'evil menace' thing. It's awfully fun, isn't it!"

Louise shot a dirty glare at her sister, and then felt slightly guilty about it. Cattleya didn't seem to get out of the house much. She always had been nicer than Eleanore, but Louise did have to admit she was rather childish; probably because she hadn't been able to go to the Academy because she was i... was a vampire. And she had a nice warm hunting jacket on, not cold metal armour. She probably was enjoying just getting out of the house.

"First thing we do is we make our way – silently – to the secret garden," Louise said. She crossed her arms and stared at her minions. "Let me make this entirely clear. There will be no looting, no pillaging, no accidental breakages, or anything else which shows any signs we were there. Anyone who does that will be tortured to death, brought back, tortured to death again, brought back again and..." she took a breath, "... will have all their loot taken from them. And the loot will be destroyed so don't even _think _of pinning the blame on someone else so you can get their loot!"

There was a squeak from Cattleya. "You've got _cold_, little sister," she whispered.

Louise looked momentarily confused – well of course she was cold, couldn't her sister feel the weather? - and then shrugged. "Catt, they're minions. Violence is the only language they understand." She paused. "Well, obviously not the only language, but it's the one they speak the best. Pass me the hot water bottle, you stupid things."

"How can you do that?" Cattleya demanded.

"Oh no," Maggat interjected loyally, "overlady is right. We minions. We understand violence real good. Threats are real good for inn-centi-vicing us. Better that way. When a minion try understanding com-ple-cated words, we end up with Maxy, and no one want another Maxy."

"Urgh."

"Dead right."

"We have po-et-ry every day if that happen. More than we can face."

"In fact," Maggat continued, sucking up for all it was worth, "overlady a very good overlady. She not sit back in tower and laugh; she come with us and start with the fire and the lightning. It wonder to us all. And she wonderful moe-tea-vay-shun-al speaker. She understand balance of threats and rewards and she not some bloody vampire who drain us dry and not have us bought back." The minion blinked and remembered what he was talking to. "Naturally I clear you uh... very nice vampire who not kill me in any way at all and who even if kill me make sure I can be bought back and so that be the end of that."

"Yes, Catt, that. Look," said Louise, glowing with pride at the approval of her underlings, "they don't think of death like we do. Most of them would rather face death than poetry. I mean," she added to general shuddering, "just ask them if they would prefer to be tortured to death or made to listen to all of _Le Morte d'Brimir _in the traditional long form."

"Death is but a sleep," Igni contributed. "It only last a short while before someone kick you in ribs and tell you to wake up, you lazy sod. Poetry can last for hours."

"I do the kicking!" Scyl said cheerfully.

"Well," Cattleya said dubiously. "I mean, if they're happy with it... but it all seems rather strange!" Cattleya paused and she looked at her now-armoured little sister. "And… Louise! You're adorable! So spikey, in a cute way! And your tailor is wonderful; that surcoat makes you look like you have curves! I wonder if I can get them to make some things like that for me, because they have to be really good to do that!" The older girl paused. "Which is of course perfectly natural because you're still growing and Eleanore was the same and I'm afraid I think it's the vampirism which gives me this figure. Which is bad of course, because it's a curse."

"Let's just make our way to the secret garden," Louise said firmly.

* * *

…

* * *

The enlarged group's passage through the de la Vallière estate was considerably easier than Louise's way in. Some of the reason for that was that they were not going near the house, which was where the majority of the patrols were, but it was more likely that the real reason was that it was getting late and it was bleedin' cold out here and knowing that the master and mistress were away, the guards were mostly in bed or in other warm out of the way niches.

The clouds were parting and the light of the blue moon joined its red sibling in the sky, casting the frost-covered garden in two shades and painting each shadow twice on the sparkling lawns. The dark lady, the vampiress and the horde of malevolent goblins tiptoed their way to the side of the lake, to the waiting boat.

Which was not there.

"Oh... darn," said Cattleya, staring out across the water at the boats pulled up onto the shore on the island. "Sugar, sugar, sugar. What's that doing over there? Well, I can't help. It's flowing water. I can't even turn into a bat and fly across. I hope you've learned some kind of dark and forbidden magic which could pull the boat back, Louise, because... what are you doing?"

"Blues, go swim over and pull the boats back," Louise said, a little smugly as she gestured with her gauntleted hands.

"This is serious!" Cattleya said, one hand going to her mouth. "The boat shouldn't be over there! Only mother and father go over there for when they have to check on... on him, and the boat is only there because the wards zap anyone who tries to levitate over! And there should only be one boat! What's going on?"

Louise glanced at her sister, concerned. "When was the last time mother or father checked on the... the vampire person?" she asked. "How long could there have been other people over there?"

Cattleya looked uneasy. "Mother has been... distracted since you disappeared," she said awkwardly. "And then there's been the political mess with the arrest of the princess, and the peace treaty with the Albionese Republic – she was livid about that, but father said it made strategic sense, because the Germanians were still furious about the whole fiasco with the princess – and then the death of the comte de Mott. She loathed the man, you know? She very nearly smirked when she heard he was dead."

She licked her lips. "But yes. Mother has been... mopey since then. When she's not been in the capital, because she's been summoned there several times. Which means that when she's been around, she's been staying around the house getting on the staff's backs and making them clean everything and she started a redecoration of the gardens on the north side and got rid of the old obsidian altar and generally she's been shouting at people. Father has been out hunting more, too... I think to get away from Mother. It hasn't been fun to be in the house since last spring."

Over from the lake, the distant sound of "Swim harder! We do what overlady says, even if current fights us!" could be heard. As well as "Oooh! Fishie! Here fishie fishie lunchie fishie!" And "You stupid! This dinner, not lunchie!".

"Well, they're having fun," Louise said flatly. "This'll probably take a while."

"Why are you so calm?" Cattleya hissed – and it was a proper hiss – at Louise. The older girl blanched, the dull red glow which had flared to life in her eyes disappearing again. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she said hurriedly, "that really wasn't me. I'm just so... so dratted nervous. And..."

"Catt," Louise said, "... listen. Are... are you sure you want to be doing this? You can go home back to your room and not have to do all this. I'll be fine; I'm actually a fair mage nowadays now that I've found some spells which come naturally to me, and I have a horde of evil, foul-smelling minions who're probably raring to... to steal Louis de la Vallière's cape or something. And..." she paused, not quite sure how to say it. It wasn't that she didn't trust her sister now that she'd found she was a blood sucking fiend who sometimes – like just then – seemed to have a predatory side which she'd never seen before...

... wait, she'd sort of lost where she was going with that sentence, because as it stood it was a pretty good example of why she shouldn't trust Cattleya around her. But it was Cattleya! Her sister! Her kind, sweet sister who... who always had advice for her and hugged her and kept her safe and... and... and was a vampire, yes, but she was trying to be a good one, and was innocent and... well, innocent-ish, even if she was sometimes naughty and drank the blood of the living and... uh. Um.

"I don't want you to have to face some of the things I might have to do," she said, trying to avoid explaining all that out loud.

Cattleya grinned bravely, showing just a hint of fang. "That's adorable, little sister!" she said, with a slight wobble in her voice. "But really, I _want _to do this. I'm helping you not only for you, but for me. I want to see that... that utterly, utterly _horrid _man torn to pieces and killed and never ever ever ever coming back! I want to see him dead for the way he went for me when I was ten and left me... me like this! I'd really like to make him suffer for completely and utterly ruining my life, but above all, he has to be dead!"

Louise took a step back. "Catt, the sword!" she said nervously. It was making whistling noises as her sister waved it around in her agitation. She quietly filed this under the growing list of reasons she had avoided mentioning, but didn't say anything about it. It clearly meant a lot to Cattleya. Although... "Catt?"

"Mmm?" her sister said through clenched teeth.

"Uh... how do you feel about fire? I mean, you are a vampire and..."

"I really don't like it. At all. It's horrible," Cattleya said, clenching her jaw. "When I was eleven, I leant too close to a candle flame and melted off half my face. It took me almost three cows worth of blood to teach myself to heal. Do you have any idea how hard that is? When I was alive, my body would just scab over naturally and then heal. Father had to give me anatomy lessons before I could do that. Which admittedly did help with the whole 'aging' thing, but still! Fire bad!"

"It's just I use a lot of it and..."

"Louise, you're not talking me out of this and that's final," her older sister said, in a tone which both of them would normally have more associated with their mother. She emphasised it by crossing her arms under her breasts, and trying to look stern. It was ruined somewhat by the peculiar blend of ineffectual softness, blood-hungry predator and mindless fear at the thought of fire which flickered across her face,

"Oh, fine," Louise said, slumping down and checking on the blues, who were by now rowing back. "But... oh, look on the bright side. He's a vampire too, so he should be extra flammable."

"That is a cheerful thought," Cattleya agreed. "Uh. I won't be able to help with the rowing, you know. I won't be able to move at all when we get over the water. It's almost as bad as me and lemons. And don't let me fall in. Really, really don't. I'll dissolve like a sugar lump."

"I have all these strong minions to help," Louise said smugly.

The rather overpacked boats were loaded and slipped silently into the water, pulled by blues swimming alongside. The silence was only broken by the splash of oars and of course the customary babble of minions.

"Now, last time we went on boat, I got shut up," Maxy began, "so I continue from where I get cut off. Ahem. 'From hornies, that plague like this!/ Why look you so?' – With my musket/ I shot the... ow!"

Maggat thumped him again. "Row, row, row the boat," he sung, joined by the others, "Her ner ner ner ner!"

"Oh, for Founder's sake," Louise sighed.

"If you see a river dragon, kill it stone cold dead!"

"You too, Catt?"

* * *

...

* * *

The tomb of Louis de la Vallière was a pale, beautiful shape in the night. Up close, it was made of a fine white marble which almost resembled ice in its sheen and translucency. There were carvings and gargoyles and the like, which were exquisitely crafted and – now Louise got a better look at them – not something she really wanted to see up close. The recurring theme of '_un homme empallé sur un pic_' with subnotes of slaughters of innocents, pillage, terror, fear, panic, and manifest unpleasantness made her rather happy she hadn't eaten anything recently.

"Can you see any signs of place we need to go?" she asked her sister.

"Probably down that staircase," Cattleya said, pointing through the half-open door. "I'm not sure how far down it goes; I've never been here before, but father said that there's rather more underground here than there looks to be."

"Just wonderful," Louise sighed. "No, of course it would be too much to expect that his tomb might be nice and simply inside a small chapel." It was slightly hypocritical of her to complain about extensive underground complexes, she momentarily considered, but it wasn't at all the same. She wasn't a vampire who'd gone for a ten year old girl. Quickly, she cast a lesser version of her fireball spell; enough for a thin wisp of pink flame to appear on top of her staff. "I'm sorry Catt," she said to her sister, who had retreated almost all the way back to the boats, "but I need to be able to see here. You can stay here if you..."

"It's fine," Cattleya said. "Just... warn me when you cast fire spells. You... you do have it under control, yes? Yes, it's under control. I don't need to worry about it. You're my sister. I can trust you with fire. You can control it. I don't need to run away or turn into a bat or wolf or mist to keep away. It's just my sister."

Now Louise was feeling vaguely guilty. "You can go first," she said. "You'll see better than me, and I promise… wait, you don't have something vampirey happen if you're hit with lightning? Like, by accident?"

"I don't think so," Cattleya said dubiously. "I mean, it'd probably hurt. Possibly quite a lot."

"I will try not to hit you," Louise said reassuringly. Or at least what she hoped was reassuring. From behind her, she heard Maggat cough, and turning she noticed him lifting the scrumpled up 'loot-sack'. "Minions," she said, "I want everything of value from this place. He doesn't _deserve _a pretty resting place after what he did to my sister." She was rewarded with a sunny, fanged grin from her sister.

Stone grated and something shifted in the earth below, releasing a dry, musty smell. A flock of bats came pouring out of the tomb, seemingly from the walls themselves. Louise flinched and covered her face, but they seemed to avoid her. Cattleya merely leaned out of the way of their flight, one hand darting out to grab a single one by the ankles.

"Look," she said once the flight had passed, stroking its back carefully. "Look at this." She offered the bat for Louise to see, fingers professionally locking its jaw in place. "The eyes."

"They're glowing red."

"Yes." Cattleya squared her jaw. "That means they've been drinking vampire blood. Or more likely they've had it fed to them."

"That doesn't make sense," Louise said, frowning. She glanced back over the water. "How could they fly over that."

"Because they're not vampires. They've just been drinking the blood, without dying," Cattleya said. "They haven't been drained. But it makes them easy to control, obedient, allows the vampire to see through their eyes if they focus – like a mage with a familiar, really. In fact, that's basically what it does. It turns them into fake familiars for the vampire."

"So… he knows we're coming?" Louise asked, with a sinking feeling in her heart.

"Not necessarily," Cattleya said. "You need to focus to see this way; it's not something you know all the time." She paused. "At least according to the books Father had me read," she added hastily.

"It's a good thing you know these things," Louise agreed. "Forewarned is forearmed, yes. And," she added, towards her minions, "that does _not _mean anyone has four arms. And you can't get extra arms by giving warning of things. Do I make myself clear?"

Together, the two sisters and the minions entered the tomb, descending a spiral stone staircase which led down into the bowels of the earth. Louise tried her best to damp the sound of her footsteps – oh yes, her helmet had warmed up since she put the hot water bottle in it, she should probably put it on – and not feel jealous about how quietly Cattleya was moving. Outside the tiny ball of pink light which surrounded her, she could only track her sister by the faint red glow of her eyes. Which meant that often she simply couldn't see her at all as she picked her way through dusty hallways of lavish marble.

She was also having problems seeing the minions, but she could still sense where they were. Some of it was probably because of some mystical power of the gauntlet which let her track her followers, but in all honesty it was more due to the fact things were being smashed wherever they went. A constant stream of gold, silver, gemstones-from-the-eyes-of-statues and other such minor fripperies was being presented to her, to be absorbed by the gauntlet and transferred to her treasury.

It was probably wrong that she was mentally occupying herself by trying to convert the value of the objects into improvements to her tower, but it occupied the time when Cattleya told her to stay where she was while she looked ahead.

"_My lady,_" Gnarl whispered to her, his voice wheedling, "_I have found something most ingenious and cunning. As you know, I have been looking into the means by which Scarron was bound, and I am sure I have found something of use in our current situation._"

Louise wasn't so sure she had known that, actually. "Go on," she muttered cautiously, keeping one eye open for Cattleya. She was her sister, her kind, beloved sister, but she was also a half-undead thrall-vampire thing whose eyes were glowing a faint red in the darkness. And… uh, had been for all the time she'd known her. But this was different! Now she knew, and now Cattleya's eyes were glowing!

The fact that Louise's own eyes were glowing a pinkish-yellow was not something which she cared to think about at the moment.

She heard Gnarl clear his throat. "_Blood of his blood. Scarron is bound by his descendent, conceived using one of the two weighty jewels in which he had invested much of his power. The same applies to the Bloody Duke. You are his descendent, and you master the tower heart, a fraction of which keeps him trapped. Blood controls blood; it is one of the most basic bits of magic there is. Well, Evil magic at least, but that's what you're wicked at. I do believe it would be possible to twist the binding your parents imposed on him, and enslave him to protect and serve you, and act in your best interests. Oh, it would please me greatly to see a vampire grovelling before me! I spent eighty years up in that cage!_"

"I see," the girl breathed. "So… he would serve me?"

"_Oh, indeed, indeed. You could probably have him licking your boots, if you felt that way inclined. And the floors. Which given your obsession with cleanliness in the tower, would be a saving indeed and would reduce the number of maid outfits we have to procure for chosen minions._"

Any further discussion was interrupted by Cattleya's return, looking somewhat disturbed. Her expression was strained, and one eye was twitching. "You know how we were expecting traps?" she said, uneasily.

"No," Louise said.

"Oh, you have to have traps! They're in all proper tombs. But how there haven't been any yet? Well. Uh. I found one and it had already been triggered. By someone who hadn't left it. Um… when I lifted the stone block off, he was fairly dead and very flat. I… I think he was a peasant from the way he was dressed, but… um. It was hard to tell!"

Louise licked her lips nervously. Somehow Cattleya's explanation made matters worse than seeing it. "How… how long had he been in there?"

"At least a week; the blood was dry," Cattleya said confidently, her lips parting in a half-smile. "But not too long, because he was still a bit squishy. Well, certainly, the legs poking out from under the block were. The bit under the block was more… flat. But a few weeks would match up with the people who had fallen down the spikey pit, and I had to rescue a few of your adorable little minions from a bit of floor which tilted and threw them down onto a pile of bodies about that old. Peasants mostly, but one down on the spikes had a wand so I think they were a minor member of the nobility."

The overlady stared at her sister, eyes burning under her helmet. "I thought you said there hadn't been any traps!" she said, her voice rising in pitch.

"Oh, that? Well, yes, there haven't been any worth paying attention to. I mean, I just broke the mechanisms to make them safe." Cattleya coughed in a slightly embarrassed manner. "There were a lot of books on deathtraps and the like in the family library," she explained, with a slight twitch.

"I've been walking over deathtraps?" Louise said, sounding horrified.

"I made them safe!"

"… once this is over, you and I will need to talk," Louise sighed. "Let's just keep moving. From now on, you _tell _me where I might be in danger from traps." She paused, looking around the dark hallway. "And you probably should tell the minions too," she added. "So it'll at least be their fault if they set off a trap and I can have them punished for it."

"It's not only that," Cattleya said.

Louise's hands tightened around her staff, the flame on top flaring brighter and making Cattleya flinch. "What now?" she asked.

"I looked far enough ahead to find the main chamber," her sister said. "It's a big hollow cave-place with lots of bats there. There's a smaller tomb in there… his one. And… there are other vampires. Commoners, mostly. He's not alone. I… I think we now know why the boats were there. And…" her hand lashed out serpent-quick to seize Louise's wrist, holding her staff-hand in a steely grip which made the plate protest under the force, "… he wants to see you. I'm so sorry, Louise! I… can't say no. To him. He… he told me to tell you…" a drop of blood trickled out of her left nostril, "… that… th-that the only way to stop me taking you to him is to kill me, so you won't do anything with those 'useful little servants' of yours! And… and I don't want to but… I can't help myself! He... he makes me do things! And he's been calling all his blood to him!"

Cattleya's lips moved in a silent "help".

* * *

…


	19. Part 4-6

_"Your Grace, I believe I have found the artefact you commissioned me to seek out. It was located in an ancient ruin in Romalia, in mountains infested with orcs, goblins and worse things besides. Still, with the application of sufficient golems, we managed to extract it, and are currently smuggling it north. With this in mind, I might hopefully request that upon delivery you will graciously hold up to your end of our agreement and release my children in the state we agreed: unharmed, still alive, untraumatised, uncoerced, without dark magics placed upon them and released in a way which does not put them in short or medium term danger. I would, with the greatest of respect, also ask that you recall your promise and that you will and have not taken any actions to endanger them in the past or in the future. Please don't drop them off a cliff onto spikes and say that you released them and that you did not harm them, like you did my wife."_

– Found amongst blood-splattered papers in the de la Vallière library

* * *

…

* * *

Cattleya's grip was an iron vice around her forearm and heart.

Well, the heart bit wasn't literal. Her sister merely metaphorically had her heart in a claw-like hand, nails digging into the very core of her as if they were steel talons tearing open veins and rending arteries. But it certainly felt that way.

Cattleya. She was being controlled and... maybe had been all along. Louise couldn't trust her own sister. It was all wrong.

"Hey! What you…" Maggat got as far as saying, before an open-palmed slap from Cattleya tore his head from his shoulders. There were a few more screams and protests, cut short, and Louise felt every death of her minions as a tiny pulse in her head. Then Cattleya was moving, throwing her little sister over her shoulder like a rag doll in a surge of movement which showed no care whatsoever for the fact that Louise was clad in full plate armour.

All the ultimate lady of malevolent darkness could do was to try to tuck her legs in and avoid throwing up as she was carried off to only Founder knew where.

Hmm. Founder. Yes. That was a good idea. Louise started praying. Sure, she was technically a malevolent blight on the land, but it was in a good way! She was only doing it to restore the natural God-given order of things that put the blessed royalty on top! And Henrietta certainly hadn't fallen to Evil, which was the only circumstance where one was permitted to overthrow a ruling monarch – and only then to put a non-wicked blood relative on the throne! And though adultery was a sin, any small mistake that Henrietta might have made was far, far outweighed by the actions of the comte de Mott in that regard. _And _of the treacherous dog Wardes and the Madam de Montespan, that bi-... female dog.

So surely the Lord would listen to her prayer, because she wasn't _bad_.

Please. God. Save Cattleya. And her too. That would also be nice.

But there was no blinding light in the darkness, no forthcoming redemption. All there was for her was the rush through corridors and hallways as black as pitch, the air chilly, with the only sound in the air Cattleya's apologies and occasional 'mind your head'.

"_A most cunning ploy, your evilness,_" Gnarl said in her mind. "_Trick him into revealing the enthrallment, and then let her carry you to him. It'll be much faster, and if you set alight to her now, you wouldn't be able to get past the traps. Genius._"

Traces of light beyond that from her eyes began to creep into her blurred surroundings, but above all the thing that told her that she was no longer in cramped corridors was the change in the sound. There was a hushed susurration which reminded her of cathedrals above all, the feeling and sound of a large space with people in it being very quiet.

Kind of... very quiet for people. The kind of quiet that even precluded breathing.

And then she was down onto the floor in a clatter of armour, and almost as quickly being pulled into a kneeling position by unyielding muscles. In the end of the complicated movement, she was upright, but her arms were behind her back in a position which could easily become painful.

There were other figures around her, in the shifting light of the magically glowing crystals positioned strategically around this... it looked somewhat like a cathedral, as she had suspected, but she had never seen a cathedral made out of this kind of dark stone. And she could see that the other figures around her, always standing just at the edge of pools of light as if they had been carefully positioned like manikins, all had glowing red eyes.

Though of course it was still Cattleya who was holding her in position. Even the apologies had stopped. Her anger was slowly and steadily burning away any shock or fear in her heart. How dare he? How _dare _he?

The central vault was far larger than it had any right to be. Through her shock, Louise couldn't see how it was meant to fit under this smallish island. So either it was under the lake entirely – and she didn't think Cattleya had taken her that deep – or it wasn't _exactly _in the real world. She was inclined towards the latter, if only because the walls were lined with basalt and she vaguely recalled from geology lessons that the estate was built on granite.

And her gauntlet was pulsing. Oh yes. It was pulsing like a heartbeat; a warm reminder of why she was here.

"Ah, great-great-great-great-great-great-great granddaughter," a surprisingly pleasant and – dare she say it? – cheerful voice said. "So nice to see you in the flesh. I knew you'd come; you're very attached to your arm, aren't you? Ah ha."

* * *

…

* * *

Pale blue light flared in the darkness of the tomb. "You was a gonner there, Maggat," Scyl said, conversationally. "And you was nearly a double gonner. Your head rolled off down stairs, and I go, 'where is Maggat's head gone' and then Stink over there say 'oh look, he double-dead, baggsies on his loot' and then he help himself to your skull arm guards while you dead." The blue-skinned minion grinned maliciously. "He over there, in case you want to get them back," he added.

Pulling himself to his feet, Maggat worked his shoulders and glared over at the newer brown-skinned minion, who was turning decidedly beige. Stink began to unfasten the purloined equipment, but he was not quite fast enough to avoid having his neck broken by an irate Maggat, who was of the general opinion that what came around went around, often to someone else.

"No one touch my stuff unless I double-dead for sure," he growled, straining as he decapitated the dead minion and tossed the head to Scyl before recovering his possessions. "Give him a hurty neck when you bring him back, yeah?"

"That pretty hilarious, Maggat," Maxy said idly, eying up an expensive statue and the gems embedded in its eyes. "Silly, silly newbies. They not quite get how stuff works. Stupid ex-gobbos who not have to work together like we do last time we end up near vampire. Now, what we going to do?"

Maggat finished strapping on the equipment. "Maxy," he said, "when we get back, you got my full okay-ness to tie Stink down and tell him poetry 'bout… daffo-dils or singing birdies or something. Thanks to the overlady, I pick up what special word 'insubordination' mean because she use it a lot and let me tell you this, I not like it one bit when it done at me."

There was muttering from the other minions. The disproportionate level of punishment seemed to be stirring some hearts. Any muttering, however, was silenced when Igni ignited two fireballs and Fettid – still clad in a dress – produced a pair of cleavers from somewhere.

"Minionies who gets uppity when overlady in trouble might just have accident where I accidentally cut them into lots and lots of little bits and then throw the bits in the river so when the blues goes looking for them some of them might have been eaten and they'll be missing something forever," Fettid said in a sing-song voice.

"Right," Maggat said through gritted teeth, "I angry. I very, very angry. And neck still hurty. Vampire-sister of overlady in for whole lotta pain. But she also very fast very powerful vampire who take overlady, so we needs a plan because we gotta have overlady back safe."

"Yeah, we gotta," Maxy agreed. "If she die by accident, we probably end up with Bloody Duke, vampire who overlady-sister mention in charge of us 'cause I hear some_preeeetty _bad-for-us stories 'bout him. And we just get away from eighty years of bloody vampires. I sure as blazes not going back."

"But we need plan," Maggat insisted.

"Oooh! Idea!" Igni contributed. "Blazes! We set vampies on fire! They weak against it. Simples."

There was general agreement that this was a good plan.

"What other weaknesses they have?" Maggat asked, pacing up and down, dragging his knuckles on the ground. "We have garlic? Steaks? No, raw steakies has blood in them, so make them better then. Oooh, we still got some silver in the loot sack we not give to overlady yet."

"I think vampies got another weakness," Maxy said, "from what I read. It sort of a met-a-weakness, which we use to kill 'em and not have all our blood taken which would hurt and might leave us double dead."

"It not natural, a minion who read," someone muttered. "Who you think you are, Gnarl?"

"Shut it, Bob," Maxy snapped. "You so stupid, you try to put out a fire with a torch because you hear phrase 'fight fire with fire' and you dumb as person who not speak so you not understand that it a meta-four-or-figure-of-speech. You so damn stupid, you not get that minions meant to serve overlord – or overlady – and smashy stuff and heads and if you too stupid, you stop it happen then. No, what I read in book on how to kill vampires when we trying to work out how to escape bloody vampire is that they all very melo-drama-tic what is a word which means they like to show off and they not act like minions. Like, what we do if we have prisoner tied up?"

There was a murmur of general discussion as the question was debated. A couple of brief scuffles broke out, before ceasing abruptly at Maggat's glare. "Bash 'em over head and bring life force to overlady," someone ventured, after a minute.

"Yep!" Maxy said cheerfully. "That because we best at what we do! We kill stuff good. Also stuff bad and stuff kinda mixed. But vampire, they like to go 'mwha ha ha, I so evil' and that have place, but vampire do it way more than even most tasteless of overlords. Overlords, they get that once you beat enemy in duel, you kills them. Vampires don't. So what I thinks, it likely that vampire tie down overlady and go 'mwha ha ha, this my evil plan' and then it likely to do something to show off. So I reckons she safe for moment, and we not need to go rushing in until we got all the silver decorations off the wall and can sharpens them and ties them to weapons and stuff like that. An' if our greenies can find a way into where overlady get taken, we can stabby-stab the vampire guardies sneaky-like and then we not double-die in horrific pain."

Maggat folded his arms. "That actually pretty good idea, 'specially cause it involve more looting," he said. "Next time, I not hit you so hard when you start poetry when you not allowed to. We is going to get her back," the senior brown minion said, through gritted teeth, "or my name not Maggat Thwacker."

* * *

…

* * *

Louise looked up, staring at the dramatic pool of light which had just appeared before her. In it there was a man, in a propped upright marble coffin. Pointed teeth smiled at her from an honest, trustworthy smile; red eyes gleamed from under brows which were worryingly similar to her father's. His hair was swept back into a widow's peak, and a long mantle was pinned over the top of clean, but out of date dress.

And protruding from his chest, stabbed through the heart was a pale-blue crystal. It seemed wreathed in red light, though something in Louise's mind told her that was just a minor madness, some extra sense detecting the raw evil pouring off the fragment of the tower heart.

Clearly that was because of the presence of the vampire and his dark magics, because she never normally felt that from the mostly-intact heart.

"Good evening... no, I do believe it is morning... to you," he said, staring down at her. "I would come to see you more closely, but at the moment, I am... aha... a trifle inconvenienced. Though you could come over to me, instead. Don't you have a kiss for your dear old grandfather?" He paused. "No? Pity. Still, it's nice to have family around, wouldn't you say? Do you mind if I call you 'granddaughter'? It's much easier all around if we don't have to say all those 'greats'. Very time wasting. But you can call me by all the greats. Because you know. That's what I am. Really, really great."

Louise tried to squirm, and failed. "Let her go!" she insisted.

"Ah ha. It is ironic, don't you think? You want me to let her go, so she'll let you go. But you know; the correct thing to do would be to obey one's elders and ancestors, and I am both." He smiled. "Cattleya is just being a good little girl, unlike your very naughty father. You like being a good little girl, don't you?"

"I do," her sister said from behind her, squeezing tighter around the plate.

"See! She doesn't want to be let go. I think what we both have to consider is who is acting in her best interests here." The duke dropped his voice to a stage whisper. "It's me. Not you."

The overlady stopped struggling then, not breathing for a moment. She let out the air in her lungs in an explosive exhalation. "Let go of my sister. And give me back the bit of my tower heart," she growled.

"Tssk,tssk, tssk. There you go again, trying to override your sister' s feelings. You can't control her her entire life, you know." The man paused. "Well, her entire unlife. Because, well, you know. Although she's not quite as utterly amazing at everything as me, she's still better than you. It's a vampire thing. Get it?"

Louise was of the opinion that she really wanted him to get 'it'. Where 'it' was 'set on fire'.

"But no, seriously? You want this crystal thing sticking out of my chest?" the vampire continued. "Take it. You're welcome to it. Feel free. In fact, given you are a dark lady, if you're open to an alliance, I'll let you take your sister with you as a mark of our cooperation." He grinned. "I promise I won't have her murder you in your sleep or stab you in the back. That'd be just terrible."

Louise blinked. Huh? Was he just... offering her an alliance and then saying he'd let Cattleya go freely with her. If she'd just take out the fragment of the tower heart... which was what she wanted to do anyway?

Wait, was everything going hazy and fuzzy? Yes, it was.

She did believe she was having a flashback.

"Louise," her father had said, looking serious. "When you get older, men might want you to... do things. Especially a certain kind of man. See, you'll be able to tell, because he'll want you to come closer and he'll say he wants you to remove something from him. He'll say it's a magic crystal and nothing bad can happen if you help him, but he's lying."

She had looked up at her father, wide-eyed. She really wanted to get back to playing with her dollies, especially the brave mage-knight her mother had got her, but her father had said that now she had a marriage arranged, there were important things she needed to do.

"It might sound like it couldn't hurt, or it'd be a good thing to do," he had continued. "Don't listen to men like that. They're a bad, bad men, and if you touch him, very very bad things will happen. Listen to me, Louise. This is vitally important, and you'll need to remember this, even if you are just six."

Louise blinked again, and she was back in her own normal-sized body. It was... rather less comfortable, all in all, because of the whole kneeling-with-her-arm-held-behind-her-back-by-her- vampire-sister-thing. Yep, that had certainly been a flashback. And... oooh. Was _that _what her father had been talking about? It all made much more sense.

"Uh," she said out loud, playing for time. "So... you mean you'll let me go..."

"_Alive, unharmed, uninfluenced by vampire magic, and without any other negative status effects or other such things,_" Gnarl prompted.

"Alive and unharmed. And without any magic on me or things like that. And you'll let me take Cattleya and you promise not to control her anymore."

"Yep!"

Cattleya's grip on her arms loosened, and she managed to stand, rubbing her wrists. She took a step forward. "Okay. Alright. Okay." Louise took a deep breath. "But wh-what… um… well, hypothetically. What would you do if… if you were on fire!" The last words were shouted as she threw her hand out and silently thanked all that was holy that she'd spent that money over the last few months on books that taught how to cast the fire spell without chanting.

Admittedly, she had to be channelling the right 'dark emotions' to do it according to the book, but frankly that was a load of hogwash because she'd never had any problems doing it when she'd been practicing on the jester.

But as it stood, she hated her blood-sucking ancestor more than she'd hated anyone in the world before. Apart from... no, even including her treacherous dog of an ex-fiancé. And, my, were the fires burning bright, a pyre centred on the stone where the Bloody Duke had been staked. All around her vampires were screaming and recoiling, and Cattleya certainly had let go of her. Stomach muscles screaming, Louise very nearly managed to flip onto her feet, and only stumbled a little bit, plate clanking.

"Oh, you wicked little girl," she distinctly heard the Bloody Duke say from inside the pillar of flame. "So much hate! So much raw malignancy that you can casually throw off a dark spell like that." He sounded as if he was _smiling_. "You are a _treat_. And you did it right in the middle of conversation! How adorable! But can you put the fire out, so we can keep on talking? I can't see you when the fire's in the way."

Louise jabbed a finger at the pillar of flame, fresh pink flames already leaping to life on her palm. "That... that's not possible!"

"Look, if a ten-a-denier fire mage could have killed me like this, do you really think the first von Zerbst to try to kill me would have been failed, instead of being displayed in every town square in my lands?" Louis said cheerfully. "And let me tell you this, the family's been slack and let some lands escape, because I had to slice him pretty finely to allow each town square to have a slice. I stitched protective amulets against fire into my appendix _before _I became a vampire, because humans are pretty vulnerable to it too."

Louise let the fire die down, and picked up her staff from where she had dropped it, igniting the end with a muttered chant. "Gnarl," she muttered.

"_Why, this is a vampire lord, who's staked into immobility, but is immune to damage,_" Gnarl said thoughtfully. "_He will almost certainly have lesser vampires attack you, possibly while hurling dark spells at you, while you have to look for his weak point. That's how this kind of thing goes. And, your evilness, you did not believe that the comte de Mott would have a weak spot, and yet he did! My expertise on these things is unparalleled!_"

Louise considered this advice. Well, she could try kneeing her ancestor in the groin. He was male, so it might work as well as it had on the comte de Mott. But wait, no; that flashback to her father's advice had said she wasn't meant to touch him.

Almost casually, she threw a ball of fire at a vampire dressed like a member of the lower nobility, who ran off screaming, igniting the dark hallway. She could fight off vampires for a while. Yes, that made sense. She could find his weakspot later – indeed, she already had suspicions - when she didn't have to watch her back for lesser vampires and her minions might have shown up.

But for now, they should keep away from her fire, and she could work out a way to free Cattleya and kill the other vampires. Yes. That made sense, she thought, as she threw a few more balls of fire into the panicking and scattering undead. This would have been so much harder if she hadn't learned all these fire spells and...

"Oh, you're being tedious," the Bloody Duke said, not a hair out of place. "Those of you too stupid to get out of the way of my granddaughter, burn for my amusement. Cattleya. Kill her. Also for my amusement. "

* * *

...

* * *

The Countess Marie de la Tolou was not actually a countess, nor was she actually from Tolou, but the weak human cattle were impressed by such things and so she had used that name for almost a decade. Who cared that she had been a butcher's daughter before she had been turned into a vampire by a handsome young man?

But then she had felt a calling in her blood, and so she had summoned her thralls – including her dreadful father who had never shown her the respect she had deserved – and they had conveyed her onto this place in the de la Vallière estate. Some of them had died to the traps and others to her hunger, but she had still waited here under the dreadful gaze of her ultimate father-in-darkness.

And now there was some relative of the Duke who was throwing around scary pink fire, so she had deliberately and cautiously withdrawn out of the way of the burning which had already consumed no small number of the other bloodsuckers. Which was a good thing, because clearly she would be a more valued servant when all the other ones were dead. She might even end up a real duchess. And a necessary part of this was keeping out of the way of a fight.

Thus she did not exactly expect a foul-smelling goblinoid armed with a sharpened silver candlestick to drop in from the ceiling and start beating her skull in with the blessed metal.

Maggat cracked his knuckles as the corpse disintegrated into silvery ashes, breathing heavily. "I feel bit less angry," he observed. "But only little bit. Lots more anger left for vampy smashing."

"Told you there'd be tunnels or shafts for lettin' fresh air in," Scyl said, poking his head down from the ceiling. "How else would all the vampies breathe?"

Maxy dropped down too. "That... very good question," he said. "Oh look. I was right, boss vampy is making overlady fight sister in drama-tick fight to death for funnies." He nudged Maggat. "Get it? It joke because 'tick' is blood-sucking para-site. Like vampy. Ow," he added, rubbing his head.

"We burn vampy now?" Igni asked, dropping down and nearly dropping the pistol he was carrying. Silver wire which had once formed an intricate decoration was sticking out of its barrel, and he was just raring to see what would happen.

"Nah," Maggat whispered. "Look. They all watching overlady and vampy sister. Greens, go kill vamps who is not being careful. And do it silent-like. We gots to be ready for when overlady want us, but double-dead vamps is always helping her, yes?"

Unseen, silver-wielding blurs in the air fanned out and started with the bludgeoning.

* * *

...

* * *

Louise could hear Cattleya's pant as she slowly moved into position, hear the grinding of her teeth. That was reassuring. Her sister was fighting it. Not very reassuring, of course, because she was still hefting that monstrous sword in both hands and Louise had seen too well how fast that thing could be swung around, but it was at least something.

"I am going to kill you!" Louise shrieked at her many-great grandfather. "You... you wicked, wicked swine! Call her off! I am going to make you suffer! For a long, long time!"

"Heard that before," the duke said with a yawn. "Just take the crystal and everything will be fine." He shrugged. "It's not like you can win either way, in case you're planning some stupidly Heroic move where you let her kill you to ensure I stay trapped. Though I very much doubt that kind of idiocy occurred to someone as Evil as you."

Louise had to admit that it hadn't. Mostly because that would involve her dying, not that dog who she would see dead and buried before she even thought of giving up.

"I'm really, really sorry, Louise," Cattleya called out from the darkness. "I do really want to kill you though, but I don't want to want to kill you, so sorry!" Her sister kept on calling out apologies from beyond her vision, and Louise tried to repress a smile. Maybe... maybe Cattleya was fighting it the best she could. This way she could hear her. She began to chant again, following the sound of her sister, and lightning crackled on top of her staff, painfully bright compared to the pink of her flame.

Listening as best she could, Louise aimed, and prayed that it would work like she hoped. A thundercrack sounded in the underground cavern and Cattleya was sent flying back, tumbling over and over, before she flipped to her feet and vanished up into the ceiling with an inhuman leap. However, rather more importantly, the sword went flying, clattering off, and there was a distinctive 'twoing' that suggested it was stuck in a wall somewhere.

"Let go of my sister!" she shouted, the ball of fire in her hand flaring brighter in her rage. "Gnarl! Tell me how to take him down!" Cattleya was scared of the fire, keeping away, so she was safe for the moment.

"_You need to weaken him before we can carry out the ritual to bind him,_" the elderly minion said, yawning. "_He'll need to be vulnerable first._"

"That's no help at all!" Louise hissed under her breath. "I have a plan, but I need more than that!"

"Shh, Cattleya," Louis commanded. "Stop being such a blabber mouth. Now, Louise, see," the vampire said, flashing a sharp grin, "I do believe I win either way. You see, if she kills you, that'll be the blood of a blood relative split upon unhallowed ground thrice bound and I can break this imprisonment put upon me by your rather annoying father. And he went and made it so the relative had to be alive and untainted by vampirism, too, which was particularly annoying. So much talent, so much potential, such a natural gift for blood magic... and then he just downright refuses to practice it! Honestly! I went to all the trouble of arranging for his parents to meet, and he wastes the effort I put into it!"

"I won't give you that satisfaction!" Louise snapped, holding her burning palms aloft. She knew that Cattleya knew that she had to keep concentrating to keep the magic working. "I am going to gut you and... and tear out those amulets and then cook you over a slow fire!"

There was a wrenching noise in the darkness, the sound of stone crumbling and being torn. Louise cause a glimpse of something white and dodged. She was barely fast enough; Cattleya had thrown a statue at her. It whistled past her ear and broke against the far wall.

"That's the spirit," her ancestor told her. "You're showing precisely what I've been breeding for! A wonderful talent for dark magic! The sadism! The rage! The fact that you're already wearing a demon-forged suit of armour, carrying a gauntlet that even I've only ever seen before in books, and commanding a loyal horde of minions – true, purebred minions – well, granddaughter, Cattleya says you're only sixteen, but I'd say you're a prodigy! I'm even more of a success than I thought I was!

"Your eldest sister was a disappointment, and Cattleya was convenient and slept with her window open. I had thought it would be most amusing to target you, because it would have been hilarious – much as it always is – to force your wretchedly Good parents to deal with a vampiric six year old... vampires that young always end up really, really funny to watch, because they never learn to control their instincts. And there's a fresh taste to the blood of those so young. But I'm glad I didn't, because you're much more fun now! All you need to do is take your crystal from me, and I can guide you so we can take control of the country which should have been mine by right! Tristain for the de la Vallières!"

Panting, straining to keep the fire alight, Louise nevertheless shivered as her blood ran cold. She had lived for so long for praise from her parents, but to get it from this ancestor? When he had been planning to do... what he had done to Cattleya... to her? She... it had so nearly been her. The only reason she was alive right now was that she had taken the chill easily as a child and slept with her windows closed in even the hottest weather.

That was utterly terrifying.

"So that's what you want?" Louise asked, trying to keep him talking. Cattleya didn't attack her when he was talking, so he was probably instructing her to keep back while he monologued. "Controlling the country."

"Naturally," the vampire said casually. "At least as a first step, before we seize back the empire from the various curs who stole it from us! I was my father's oldest son; just because he wasn't married to my mother, he gets to fob me off with a dukedom rather than the crown which should have been mine? Not on my watch! It's what I've been looking for. And right now, the throne is weak and the queen has no undisgraced heir. Grandaughter, there are fewer than ten people between you and the throne! I've spent over a hundred years making sure the family marries people with royal blood, picking the right wives and husbands, marrying extra children into other lines and then marrying them back. Honestly, don't people think about the meanings of words? What is a king, but a lord over lords? And," and the smile grew even wider, "true power rests in the blood."

"You're utterly insane!" Louise snapped.

"No, no, no, no, no!" her ancestor snapped. "That's a _Hero _thing to say! Bad girl!"

There was a crack of air and something hit her in the breastplate, knocking the air from her lungs. Something went crunch, and Louise had a horrifying suspicion that it was one of her ribs. And now she was flat on her back. The fire was still burning though, and clutching her staff she pulled herself to her feet, sending her sister hissing back. Her free hand went to her chest; there was a fist-sized dimple over her heart where the plate was bent in. The padding had taken what it could of the blow, but... Founder, had she been shot?

No. That had just been a punch from Cattleya.

"Your dreadful parents have been a Good influence on you to say that kind of thing!" he continued. "You should be saying things like 'Why should I share power with you?' and 'You fool! What can you possibly offer me!'. That's a sensible thing to say! It shows proper ambition! And I can explain why!"

"_Don't listen to him!_" Gnarl snapped. "_I'm your advisor, not him! You can't trust a vampire lord like that, my lady! He'll just make you into an enthralled pawn!_"

"You fool," Louise said, trying not to sound in pain. She could hear her chest crackle when she breathed. "What can you possibly offer me." She paused and added, trying to keep the wheedling note out of her voice, "After all, you're a vampire. Surely you can't have been smart enough to... to stop all your weaknesses even... um, if you don't catch fire."

She'd just caught, at the edge of her vision, something which looked distinctly like a vampire being mobbed by a group of foul-smelling goblins. Which meant she just had to buy more time. And maybe deal with Cattleya... she bought her staff around in a warding arc of fire and her sister retreated, hissing. Cattleya hadn't said a thing since the Duke had made her be silent. Which made things horribly easier in some ways.

Vampire weaknesses, vampire weaknesses. Which... uh, didn't kill them. And didn't require things like garlic or lemons or witchroot which she didn't have on her. But she needed to think quickly. Because she was getting tired and her will was sapping and if she didn't think of something quickly, she would need to kill or be killed. And she really, really didn't want to do that.

She caught a blur of motion out of the corner of her eye and flinched. It was enough for Cattleya's open-handed slap to hit her arm. The plate rung like a bell, which was hurt a lot when one was wearing it. The pain forced the breath from her lungs and made her scream from the pain in her ribs. Reflexively she swing her flame-tipped staff towards her sister. With a shriek, the vampire retreated, and Louise was left alone again.

It hurt a lot. Really, a lot. Her arm didn't feel broken, but she was going to have the mother of all bruises there tomorrow morning and really, really hopefully she'd live that long. She waggled her fingers. And then waggled them again.

She let the fire go out. "Okay, great-times-something grandfather," she declared. "Let's hear your offer, then. I get to keep Cattleya, right?"

Her sister, eyes glowing dull red, fingers twisted into claws was suddenly in front of her, between her and the Duke. Her coat had been split open by her movement, revealing that Cattleya had only thrown the outer garment over the top of her night dress – which did explain how she had changed so quickly. Streaks of red marked their way down from her sister's eyes; she had been crying blood. The look in her eyes, past the glow was raw pain.

"What are you up to?" the elder vampire asked suspiciously, from behind the protective shield of her sister. "I expected far more banter and demonstrations of my fabulous sense of humour before you started to see the dark." The man pursed his lips, thinking, and then chuckled delightedly. "Aha! You wanted to expose her so you could kill her yourself! Sororicide for preservation and prospects! Why, I killed my half-sister myself, back when I was a mere boy. Feel free! Cattleya is a lot less fun than I thought she would be, honestly. Too much of your blessed parents in her, I'm afraid. It's very disappointing. Your great-great grandmother took to vampirism like a bat to blood, but your sister's just... _weak_. I'll even tell her to stand still!"

Louise threw her hand out and Cattleya hissed, recoiling already from the fire. What hit her, however, was not burning pink. No, what hit her was gold and silver.

"Why are you throwing coins at me, Louise?" Cattleya asked, from the edge of the light.

In response, Louise scattered another handful. And another. "How many are there, Cattleya?" she shouted back. More and more handfuls got thrown down, some of them behind her. "They're just sitting around the place, looking messy! And you hate messiness, right? How many, Catt?"

Cattleya blinked, eyes suddenly no longer glowing. "I... one, two, three, four..."

Louise scattered a handful right on top of the lot her sister was staring at. "You missed some!"

"That's mean! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven..."

And that was about as far as she got before Louise hit her around the jaw with the unlit end of her staff, as hard as she could. "Sorry!" she apologised as Cattleya doubled up in pain, bringing her armoured knee into contact with her sister's face. "Don't take it personally!"

"'At's o-ay," Cattleya managed, dribbling blood. No one who just got kneed in the face should look that grateful. "I 'an regro' 'eeth. On', 'oo, 'ee,'or... ah. Ah. Ah."

Louise hit her again in the face with her staff with all her strength despite the pain, and bone cracked. "Tell me if you don't think you can heal it!" she yelled as she stomped on one of her sister's clawed hands. "Just keep on counting! It's not your fault that you're having to count all these things; that's just a vampire thing, right?" She drove her staff into her sister's midsection. "Keep that in mind! You're just being a vampire, you're not fighting his control at all! He made you one so that's what he wants..." she grunted as she kicked her, "... you to do!"

"'At's 'igh'," Cattleya managed, not even moving to defend herself. "I'n 'ryin' 'o 'ill 'er, 'ran'ather, but 'ampire stu'..." Another staff blow to her already-battered face knocked out one of her elongated canines. "On', 'oo, 'ee..."

Trying to resist the guilt of her battered sister, Louise straightened out and poured out more and money on top of her, drawing it from her treasury through the Gauntlet until Cattleya was almost buried under coins. That should keep her busy, even if her sister managed to heal. She turned around, and let out a pained exhalation, her dented armour protesting. Despite all that, despite how hard that had been, she still... wanted to smirk. Just a little bit. For managing to find a way to incapacitate her sister without vio... without anyone dying.

Her sister was out of the way. Her vampiric ancestor was there, face twisted in a pout, lit from below by the blue glow of the tower heart. Soon, she promised herself. Very soon.

"Your move, grandfather," she said, sweetly, igniting the fire again. "And minions, I do believe I'm having all the burny fun. You like jokes, grandfather? Reds! Open fire!"

* * *

...


	20. Part 4-7

_"Oh, what are you making such a fuss about? It was only a few bathworths of peasants a year, and they replace themselves so quickly! They weren't even workers – I made sure to pick from the ones who were good for little else. Honestly, all the things I had to endure, raising you! Why couldn't you be more like your brother and sister? You were always an ungrateful little brat and when you ran off to the Manticore Knights to tramp around being publically Good I nearly died of shame. It's that dreadful wife of yours, who parades around in mens' clothing who put you up to his, isn't it? I never thought even you'd lock me up in a monastery! Well, so be it! Taste a mother's curse!"_

– Madeline de la Vallière (née Ambracia)

* * *

...

* * *

The smoke-filled tomb was ablaze with screaming vampires. And it was just as well that it was made of stone, or it would also have been ablaze with fire. And a burning roof is an unpleasant end to a night's entertainment, at least when one is inside.

A vampire ran past the red-skinned minion's firing line. They did not technically have to set it on fire again, because that had already been done, but they still threw a few more fireballs in its general direction because vampires burned in an amusing way.

"You know," one of the red-skinned minions said, casually, "is we hurtin' cause of Evil with this? 'Cause there not be many vampys left 'round abouts in morning?"

"That hard to say," another one said, staring at the pink explosions on the other side of the hall which marked Louise indulging herself. "Vampys are Evil, but they is not us. Also, they is rude and kicks us."

"Oh, that mean killin' them is proper Evil," the first one said. "I just want them to burny less bright. We no is getting loots from them 'cause their clothies is catching on fire. Only the stuff in their their wallets. We see what they gots in their pocketes, but mostly that is ash. And the shinies go to overlady. I is feelin' a little cheated by this, you know what I is saying?"

The other minions looked at him with incredulity, or at least would have done so if they had known what the word meant. "No," was the answer he got, explained as if to an idiot. "Because we is setting stuff on fire that burn nicely."

"Oh yeah." A pause. "Want to set Cheem's ears on fire?"

"He red like us. He no burn."

* * *

...

* * *

Louise stared at her ancestor, pinned in his coffin by the fragment of the tower heart. What flesh was exposed from under her helmet was locked into a rictus of hatred.

Her ancestor stared back at her. "Okay," the man admitted, inclining his head, "you really are a wicked little girl. How many of those blasted little goblins do you have?"

"Enough," Louise said flatly, tilting her head back so she could look down her nose at him. "I am going to make you suffer. Although I don't think I can do one tenth of what you have c-coming to you, you... you dastard!"

"Oh no. Oh no. Whatever will I do. Incidentally, learn to swear properly, granddaughter; you sound like a baby. Here; I'll give you something to swear about. I suppose now is the time that I reveal that I've been saving Cattleya's lifeblood for ten years within my veins for just this moment?" he said, with a sudden smirk as he looked up, a sudden bloody aura igniting around him.

"Oh yes. You see, I had expected that my descendents might try to bind me – as I had after all been breeding you for mastery of the black arts which includes blood magic – and so by keeping her blood and breath... yes, I learned how to steal that while in Rub al Khali on my way to the Mystic East... trapped, I can weaken the binding whenever I want to. There is a certain magical artefact which I found long ago which allows me to do all kinds of interesting things with life force. Sadly the blood is stale, so I can't break your father's trap – and I had to spend no small amount of it to resist his compulsion which would have kept me sleeping, but..." his face twisted into sudden monstrosity, "... it should be enough."

The crimson glow intensified, forming six monstrous, spider-like limbs which dug into the ground. Pulsing like a heartbeat, he lifted himself upright, the coffin hanging from mid-air in the centre of a bloody nimbus. Strange, child-sized spectres floated around him, drawn from the ground below him into his growing aura.

"Oh yes," he continued. "I suppose I'll just have to shed your blood myself. And did I mention I didn't have _anywhere _near all my spawn in here. Your pathetic goblins are surrounded and outnumbered by the vampiric master race! Trust me on this." He grinned a needle-toothed grin. "This'll hurt you more than it hurts me. Ah ha."

"_I expected something like this,_" Gnarl said calmly. "_Do not die, my lady._"

Louise screamed and ran away, as a blood-red glowing tendril whipped down towards her, splintering the granite floor and leaving it splattered with spectral gore.

* * *

...

* * *

"Uh," said Scyl, eyes wide. "This bad, right? The fact that vampy-grampy has evil glowing red tentacles an' is chasin' overlady and killing stoopid noobie minions who are chargin' it straight on? This not part of secret plan I no pay attention to?"

Maxy sighed. "Yeah. This real bad. And not the kind of bad we like, where we say 'oh, this is totally bad' and overlady get confused because she use Good language because of how she was bought up. We is more screwed that a screw that's gone screwy 'bout being screwed into something."

"This not something we can defeat," Fettid said, sadly. "Vampy-grampy not got feet on the tentacles."

Igni crossed his arms and pouted. "Stupid vampy! Bein' immune to fire is cheatin'."

There was a pause.

"Well," Maggat said. "Time we go lay down our lives for overlady, right? However many times it takes. Scyl, don't get killed."

"We is going to have such a rezzing headache in the morning," said Maxy, morosely.

* * *

...

* * *

All in all, Louise had but one opinion of this current chain of events.

It was, as Cattleya would have put it, complete and utter bull-sugar.

"Argh argh argh _oh Founder drat it all _why is this happening _what kind of vampire can do this _argh duck duck duck _what did I do to deserve this?!_"

"Why, you rejected my perfectly reasonable offer!" Louis de la Vallière called out from behind her, over the noise of shattering stone from the dreadful spider-scuttle of his red-glowing tendrils. Lousie threw herself to the left, ribs protesting at the motion, and gave silent thanks to the various enchantments Jessica had woven into her heels which meant she could actually run in them.

"Slow him down!" she shrieked in a generally minionly direction, and legged it. She certainly wasn't running away; she was just getting out of stone-breaking blood-tentacle reach of her vampiric relative who was specifically looking to kill her to unleash a great evil on the world. Which all in all was clearly the morally righteous thing to do, as well as being considerably better for her health. Behind her, she heard the gleeful cheer of minions who had been told to kill something, followed by various unpleasant organic noises and screams.

Jinking around one of the high stone columns, the girl gasped for breath. She licked her lips, desperately trying to wet her mouth. It was bone dry. Okay, she wouldn't be able to pronounce the lightning chant properly in this state. Which meant that she would have to see if she could at least... like, blind him with fire or something, because that way she could at least run away more when he couldn't see her. And fire crackled and stuff like that, so... so maybe he couldn't hear her! And it had a smell too!

Holding her free hand to her ribs, she ducked out from behind the cover of the pillar and levelled her staff one-handedly at her ancestor's head. In horror, she watched as he picked up a minion with two tendrils and wrung it out, squeezing it so the blood ran out over his face. Long months of practice with any magic she could get her hands on had paid off, and bolt after bolt of pink fire lashed out fuelled by hatred and, yes, fear.

Only to be absorbed by the crimson aura which enveloped the vampire. She poured in shot after shot, but with none getting through. The redness flared and surged to absorb each impact, getting brighter and brighter until, like shattering glass, one of the extra limbs fractured.

Louise ducked back behind the pillar, panting. She could feel a headache coming on, and her limbs felt like jelly. What with everything else that had occurred, her will was almost sapped. By a gut feeling, she had about enough left in her to do that once or twice more. And that wouldn't be enough, even if the vampire didn't have some cheating stupid blatantly unfair ability to repair them.

Maybe, just maybe, she was seeing why even her parents had only been able to bind him.

The pulsing on her arm from her gauntlet grew stronger, and she realised she had not been paying attention. She risked a little poke of her head around the corner, and shrieked as a red blast of light tore into the marble, cast by a too-close ancestor smeared in minion blood. The monster was even using one magical limb to wipe himself clean and feast upon the blood – his arms remained locked immobile. Or possibly he hadn't spared the blood to allow them to move.

Wait! He said he was using up the blood of Cattleya he had saved. Maybe if she kept on running, he'd run out of it and she could get him when he was paralysed again! Keep on running, drag things out, blow off more aura-limbs if she could because that might hurt him or hasten his demise. She took a deep breath, ignoring the protest of her chest, and poked her head out, ducking back in as quickly as possible. He was distracted by her red-skinned minions, who were killing the lesser vampires with hurled fireballs, but very soon he would have killed them all. She needed to act quickly, take advantage of this, and take him down now.

"Reds!" she ordered into her gauntlet. "Keep moving! Keep away from him, and scatter into smaller groups so he can't take you out all at once! Browns! Protect the reds and throw things at him! Blues, split up so there's two of you with each group! Make sure none of you die! Greens, get up high! Attack the roof supports above him! If you can drop rocks on him, you might be able to pin him! If that doesn't work, drop down and attack his limbs from behind, and then run away if he tries to pull you off! And the nearest group of minions should come to me! Everyone, focus on the limbs! If he gets close, run away! Keep him moving and distracted!"

She could do it! That was a good plan!

* * *

...

* * *

That had been a terrible plan, all things considered, Louise thought as she sailed backwards through the air. No, wait! Her plan had been fine! The problem was with her opponent! What kind of cheating vampire ignored the minions who were being nice distractions and charged straight for you as soon as he noticed you? And didn't care when you blew off two of his evil blood tentacle things if it meant he got close to you, rather than retreating like all the monsters in the stories did after being injured? That wasn't how this sort of thing was meant to work.

Then she hit the wall and her world – which had already been made of not-inconsiderable amounts of pain – was now made of agony. She could describe how she had sounded like a sack full of cutlery dropped from a height, or the fact that she was sure she had heard multiple bones snap, but really, it hurt too much for that kind of abstract thought.

Through the red and black haze, she could see her ancestor stalking up to her, his face leering down at her from within his coffin suspended from the tendrils. "Old age and treachery triumphs over youth and skill," he said, casually. "Except you weren't actually that skilled. Honestly, I was the skilled one, and you were the treacherous one for opposing me like that. Wait a moment. Let me think up some better last words to be the last thing you hear as a living being."

Louise groaned. Each breath felt like knives into her lungs, and her breath was coming in bubbling gasps.

"Ah yes! I'd like to thank my fans, for their _undying _support, and extend my best wishes to the people of Tristain, who'll be seeing my come-back tour very soon!" A pause. "No, not, not ironic enough. Hmm. I'll enjoy drinking deeply from your defeated and despondent despair? Eh, no. Let's see…"

There was the patter of feet at the edge of her hearing. Or possibly that was the pounding of her heart, beating like a butterfly's wings as it pumped out her lifeblood. She felt like she was drowning.

"Ah! Don't think of it as dying. Think of it as leaving early, to avoid the..."

"Right! Stick him in the melodrama!" someone yelled, a muffled voice from the edge of her hearing.

"Fire in the hole what is left by the thing what I am shooting at you!" yelled Igni, and fired his pistol at the Duke's face. Given it had been loaded by the mechanism of 'ramming bits of silver down the barrel', and its firing mechanism was a minionlock – more colloquially called 'Igni had his thumb on the pan' – it was a hazard to at least one person within 360 degrees of the weapon's opening. And in this case, the unfortunate someone happened to be the Duke de la Vallière (undeceased), who took a barrel's worth of tight-packed deniers to the knee.

He went over backwards in a clattering of his stone coffin, his bloody tendrils disintegrating, howling in pain. Louise laughed, a bubbling gasp that left her mouth splattered with her own blood.

"Don't move, overlady," she heard, over the fog of the pain. "Maxy, get the arms!" She would have shouted something at the minion who said something so utterly stupid, but she was in rather too much pain for such things and her breath just didn't seem to want to obey her. Ha. Ha ha ha. Clearly... clearly she should shout at it. Shout at her breath.

Ha. God, it hurt so much.

"Let go! What I ever do to you?"

"Fettid, got the knife? Good? That very stupid question, Bob. You gotta know I not forgive. And you too annoying to forget. On count of 'Cut', do it Fettid! One, two, five..."

"Three."

"... shuddit, Maxy, I very distracted right now. Three, cut!"

It was like soothing balm in her veins. It was not like the healing sensation of water magic; it felt better than that. It wasn't cold and didn't make her feel slightly sick. No, it felt like... living. Louise refocused her eyes and gasped, her breath coming cleanly and pain-free. Before her stood a cluster of shamelessly gore-covered minions and the slowly disintegrating corpse of another, dissolving into a pool of sticky black slime.

"What did you do?" she breathed, eyes wide.

"We explain later," Maxy said casually. "Vampy grampy biggest problem right now."

"I thought biggest problem was way roof is getting damaged," Scyl noted. "It bigger than he is, an' I no can bring minions back if they have become like... what the word? Food stuff. Rat-au-vin, that was it."

"I think now not time for bickering because vampy grampy is a little distracted but Igni not have any shots left so we need to run," Maggat said, cutting off any other debate with the threat of violence. "Try not to get splatted again overlady. It bad for your health."

No. Louise levered herself to her feet, wiping her mouth on her arm and thanking that she'd somehow managed to keep a hold on her staff. She spat blood out, onto the ground. No. No more running. No more hiding. She stared with abject, ice-cold fury down at her fallen ancestor, who was drawing in child-like spectres of red light from the ground itself, regrowing his blood-tendrils and beginning to pick himself upright.

"You still really rather hurt, overlady," Maggat cautioned. "You lot? Know another minion who annoy us and need using as health maker better for overlady?"

"I no like Monger," Igni contributed, tongue sticking out as he tried to frantically reload his pistol.

Louise spat again, to clean her mouth, and began to chant. Lightning crackled from her staff, from her gauntlet and from her armour. It earthed itself on the ground around her. The minions around her shaded their eyes from the burning brightness in the dark. So did the Bloody Duke who loomed over her in his spider-walking coffin, one leg a bloody mess.

And then she raised her left hand and shot him in the centre of the chest with a lightning bolt. The actinic blue light flared against the crystal in his chest, crackling and flaring. And then the red aura spiralled and churned, drawn in an inexorable vortex into the crystal and snuffed out as the energy flowed back into her gauntlet.

The coffin crashed down to the ground with a splintering sound.

The overlady stared at her hand with an expression of mild shock. She had been waiting all along to have a chance to aim for the obvious glowing crystal linked to her tower heart mounted in the middle of his chest which was tied into his binding, but... uh. Well, she hadn't expected it to do that.

The duke screamed in agony. There were words of some sort in there, possibly involving 'cheating' in some capacity, but they were rendered unintelligible by pain and fury. Already, a new red aura was springing to life around him, though, as the spectral child-sized figures flocked toward him.

"I told you! I told you that was my magical glowy crystal! And lightning is wind magic, not fire!" Louise shrieked in triumph. "Gnarl! Have you got the ritual ready! You better! Or I will cook him alive with my lightning! Cook him dead! Undead! Whatever!"

Someone groaned from behind her, and from under a pile of money – which was not there any more – Cattleya pulled herself to her feet. Louise glared at the minions who had been busy collecting it again, and waggled her fingers in the right way, filling her hand with more coins. "Stay down, Catt," she said, trying not to wince at the sight of her sister's face. She'd managed to fix most of her teeth, but she wasn't looking very pretty. And Louise had been the one to do it to her... in self-defence, yes, but still...

"Not... he's... too distracted. Hit him again. M-make him scream," Cattleya managed, drooling blood and swaying.

Louise did so, with pleasure, dispersing the red light forming around him which had begun to build up again with another blast of lightning. "How do you like _that_, you dog!" she crowed. "Oh, you thought you were so powerful? Not anymore! Ah ha ha ha!" She started coughing, as the laughter hurt her ribs. "Scream!"

"Than' you." Cattleya stared down at her armoured sister through a swelling black eye. "Out o' my way."

Louise blinked. "What?" she asked. But she knew all too well. There was a haggard look on her sister's face, something hateful and bitter.

"I... I _need _this. I... I was jus' ten. He... I can't make it not have happened. But he has to die."

"_If you kill him, you can't bind him,_" Gnarl warned. "_The knowledge! The abject humiliation! The humiliation of forcing him to provide the knowledge, and then possibly putting him in a cage hanging from the ceiling for a decade or so! But then again, you might come to rely on him... and then he could betray you. And I would be powerless to help if you hadn't been listening to me properly because you had been unwise enough to rely on him rather than me. Tricky, tricky. Hmm. Well, I have the books ready for the binding whatever you decide, your evilness._"

Standing between them, lit from behind by the red light of the Bloody Duke's aura and the pulse of the tower heart, Louise froze.

"Move," Cattleya whispered, hands balled into fists, a fresh tooth extending from her gums like a snake's fangs unfolding.

... she shouldn't let Cattleya do it. It was wrong. This would be her killing someone... and probably draining their blood. That was bad. It was wrong. Killing did bad things to the minds of vampires, the stories said, that they weren't truly lost until they had first killed. She could stop her. Kill the Duke first. Rid the world of him. Or bind him, take him away from Cattleya, leave her safe with her parents. Or... she could kill them both. Put the blood-hungry, battered thing in front of her to rest, the beast with rending teeth and glowing eyes and claws, and remember her sister as she was, as she had been. As a kind, sweet girl; not something that had to prey on others. Not something which... which had ever looked like that _thing _before her.

Gnarl waited patiently.

But the way Cattleya looked at her. She was still her big sister. The raw, visceral need in her eyes. The pain, the inner pain which put whatever Louise might have done to stop her attacking to shame. She knew that need, that hatred, that desperation all too well; she had seen it in the mirror when she had blamed herself for another failure at magic. It must have been horrible for her all these years. Lying to her little sister, blaming her older sister, scared of Mother and Father in a way which Louise had been this past year. And she was... technically a vampire in some ways, because it seemed that one of the things that her minions had _not _told her was that they had a way of sacrificing themselves to heal her.

If it meant that much to Cattleya, then dr... then _damn _everything else.

Louise stepped aside, bowing her head, and Cattleya sprang.

Feeling sick, Louise tried her very best not to listen nor to cry. From everything. Her arm was hurting more, and every breath hurt. And she was hoping and praying that what she had done was for the best, but she didn't know and feared to find out.

Screwing her eyes shut, she turned around, and summoned a ball of fire in her hand. The next step would be to see if the thing which... to see if it was still her sister over there. But she didn't want to look. This... this was all her fault. This was exactly what Mother had spoken of, the weakness of choosing what felt easy over what she knew to be right. So she had to face it. She had to carry out the righteous action if it was necessary. And having done that...

"Uh. Louise?" Cattleya asked, curiously. "Why're you standing there with your eyes closed? Well, I mean, you've got that fancy helmet on, but I can't see your glowing eyes – oh! Your eyes are much nicer than mine, by the way; dull crimson is a horrid colour – where was I? Oh yes, I mean, what're you doing?"

That... definitely sounded like Cattleya rather than a blood-soaked queen of the damned. Louise opened her eyes, and reconsidered. How to put it? Well, Cattleya wasn't a queen, and her dominion of the damned was uncertain. That was about what could be said.

"Yeah," Cattleya said sheepishly, a adjective not usually applied to someone who looked like they had just had an 'accident' in an abattoir while wearing a hockey mask and chasing a mixed group of teenage stereotypes. "We do kind of need to find some still water for me to jump in. And this nightdress is probably ruined. Well, it'd definitely ruined. I lose lots of clothes to bloodstains, but this won't even be good as rags. You would not _believe _how much blood he had in him! I think he was regenerating it! And it was so good. Really, really good. I'm not going to have to eat for _weeks_." She hiccupped. "I mean, that was wonderful. Enough to heal everything you did to me – I totally forgive you for that, little sis, and am so so so sorry for what he made me do – and then more." She put a hand on her stomach. "I feel half-ready to burst! Like a tick or something! I wonder if that's what people mean by the sweet taste of revenge? And..."

Louise raised a hand. "Catt. No more, please." She took a deep breath. "I... I might have found out what you are and what you get up to, but... uh, can you not talk about... the whole v-word thing in such... such... I'm really not very comfortable with it!" She swallowed. "Is... he dead?"

"Well, yes. He's a vam... oh, right." Cattleya smiled a not very pleasant smile and jabbed a finger in the direction of the coffin. "See for yourself." Louise did so, and was presented by a shrivelled, desiccated corpse which looked like it had been dead for hundreds of years. Paper-thin skin, torn in places, was stretched tight over yellowed bone. The teeth had been smashed and broken, the limbs broken, and the corners of the mouth seemed to be locked in a rictus of agony.

Louise seized the fragment of the tower heart from his chest. The crystal glowed bright in her hands, sinking into her gauntlet, and she felt a sudden almost-contented charm from the stone in the gauntlet. Then she yanked the mantle off the corpse, tossing it to Cattleya. "Put that on," she said. "You're... uh, sort of," she made gestures around her chest, "... sort... the blood is making your nightie see-through and...and uh, one of the straps is broken and you're sort of... just put it on, Catt."

And then Louise turned and set fire to the duke's body, watching it burn. Something collapsed on the far side of the room as she did so, rubble throwing up dust which was painted pink by the fire.

"I'll just stay back here if you don't mind," Cattleya said nervously, edging away from the inferno.

"Minions," Louise commanded, before correcting herself, "well, reds. Collect the ash from the fire, and then we'll sprinkle it in flowing water. Well, some of it there. Some we'll put in a jar of holy water. And other such things. I want his ashes spread so far and wide anyone wanting to use dark magic to bring him back will have to start with fingernail-sized portions!"

Maggat coughed in an embarrassed fashion. "Uh, your evilness?" he said. "We die. A lot. I mean, double-die. Well, most of the ones who die is stoopid ex-goblins who never meet a vampire before, but still."

Louise paused, and shrugged. The remaining minions did look especially well-festooned in both minionly-gear and things like opera capes and monocles and other such accruements of the pseudo-aristocratic vampire. "Oh well. We can always get some replacements for the goblin-ones." She paused. Should she really be thinking like that? On the other hand, the ex-goblins _were _offensively stupid and a few had even made comments about her height and lack of a bust, so really, they had it coming. "How many can you save?" she asked.

Scyl stepped forward. "We got all the ones we can," he said frankly. "Vampies eat lifey-ness, so they got ways of killing us dead-dead easy."

Oh. Well, it was the vampires' fault, not hers. That made everything so much easier. They really were such a morally acceptable target, she thought smugly.

The vampire beside her sniffed, and stared over towards the other side of the room. "Through there," she said, pointing. "More vampires."

Louise cracked her knuckles. "Well, I suppose we – and by that I mean 'I and my fire-throwing minions' better go solve them," she said, cheerfully. You can keep back..." she trailed off, at the way that Cattleya had in the blink of an eye crossed half the room. Clanking, aching she made her way over to where her sister waited, and stared in shock at what she could see.

The damage to the underground chamber had smashed away a false wall which had revealed a secret room. Within could be seen... a mass of vampires, chained together. They were not the handsome, pretty vampires like the Duke de la Vallière (re-deceased) or even Cattleya; they were walking corpses, with monstrous fangs bared from lipless mouths. And what they were chained to, by red-glowing chains, was...

"_A minion hive!_" Gnarl exclaimed, sounding incredibly pleased with himself. "_Not a true one, of course, but it looks like a fairly good copy. Your evilness, you must take that back to the tower at all costs! Ah ha! And that explains exactly how he was able to return from things which should have killed a normal vampire! He clearly was using it to feed off all kinds of life force! And even why your father needed a shard of a tower hear t to bind him! Well, well, well. I wonder how he got his hands on that? And from whom he got it from? And whether he was dead or not when he got it? Either way, taking it back may be the only way to ensure he remains dead!_"

The overlady nodded. "Very well," she said, ignoring Gnarl's ponderings for the much more relevant 'bring it back', and threw a sputter of sparks. Given that had meant to be a fireball, that was a bad sign. She tried again, focussing, and got a damp belch of flame which barely made it past her finger tips. "One...small, teeny weeny problem," Louise said uneasily, panting. "Uh. I... seem to be out. This has never happened to me before! I... I've never had a problem with Evil magic!"

"Mmm?" Cattleya said, licking around her mouth and staring at the throats of the writhing mass of corpse-like bodies.

"It's a real problem! I'm... I've spent all my time learning magical things and I'm... uh, I could be better with my staff! And those vampires look really nasty."

Cattleya blinked, and grinned widely, her teeth notably lengthening and her whole face taking on an inhuman cast. "Oh, Louise," she said teasingly, "that's not a problem. Let me," said Cattleya gently. "I can handle this. In the proper manner."

Louise stepped back.

"Alright, you suckers!" Cattleya screamed at the top of her voice, lifting her two-handed sword high, "don't give us any sugar, or, may the blesséd Founder aid us, we will flipping end your foul existence!"

"This is your idea of a proper manner?" Louise hissed in shock.

"They're not a problem," her sister said cheerfully. "They're a meal. And killing them all counts as repentance for whatever bad deeds the two of us might have done tonight, right? I mean, it'd be _wrong _for us to leave them here where they might escape."

"You said you were full!" Louise blurted out, momentarily forgetting that she didn't want to hear that kind of thing from her sister.

"So I did! Turns out I was wrong," Cattleya said brightly, unhinging her jaw with a crackle of bone before she leapt.

There was something... very wrong with her sister, Louise could not help but conclude. More so than usual. More so than she had been before. Maybe it was the fact she'd killed the one who'd made her like this and that had boosted her confidence. Maybe Mother and Father had known exactly what they were doing when they'd kept her on a animal diet and now with all this blood – not even just human blood, vampire blood – that she'd gorged on, she was like some peasant child who'd never had honey in more than small mouthfuls being sat down at a noble banquet.

Louise's minions formed up around her. She told them to hold fire – literally – and then clarified that they could still shoot guns and the like, but throwing fire at her sister was right out. She then expanded on a few threats on what would happen to anyone who disobeyed her. It was relaxing.

Cattleya was a fanged whirlwind of inexpert sword blows. Then again, there was a certain school of thought which stated that a man-tall lump of sharpened steel being swung around like it was a twig by a vampire could not precisely be called an inexpert. Or a sword, exactly.

Either way, things which went within reach of her got body parts removed by a blade which whistled through the air. Those were probably the lucky ones, because the ones who got within biting range suffered altogether more unpleasant fates. Louise averted her eyes, paling at the sight of her kind gentle sister shaking a woman by the throat like a dog might a bone.

Either way, there was _no _way she could let her sister near Mother in this state. She'd _have _to take her with her. And not just because there was the nagging voice at the back of her head which sounded vaguely like Gnarl pointing out how useful that kind of loyal monster might be. Wait, not 'not just because'. Not at all!

"_You know, your evilness,_" Gnarl began slyly, "_you could..._"

"Yes, I'm taking her with me," Louise said sharply, with a hint of regret that the voice hadn't actually _been _Gnarl. At least when he said horrible things, they weren't coming from her, and she could get properly outraged about them.

"_Delightfully indulgent, your evilness. Certainly, the Duke would have been a useful slave if one was being pragmatic, but you wouldn't want to let a man like him constrain your actions. And he might have ended up a rival. A rival of you, of course. No one else._"

"Finished!" called out Cattleya cheerfully, dropping a shrivelled husk of a vampire which began to disintegrate into dust when it hit the ground. She dug in her by-now-split-and-tattered nightgown and recovered an already-bloodstained handkerchief, before frowning at it. "Louise," she asked. "Uh... do you have a handkerchief? Mine is dirty and I need to wipe my mouth."

The overlady passed her sister a little white frippery, and winced at the mess which was made of it. "And... Cattleya?" Louise asked nervously. "Do you have to... uh, lick the sword like that?"

Her sister blushed, and hastily licked her lips. "Sorry, sorry," she apologised, "but it's just so nice! And I so rarely manage to get human blood. Mother and father – righteously, I might add – stop me from having it. It's raw steak and black pudding and animals, normally. But..." she sighed happily, "... it's so nice! No wonder most vampires are utterly horrible people! It's like honey and poppy juice, mixed together. And this vampire blood is... Founder, it's even better! I hadn't even thought that was possible! Louis was _wonderful_; I'm not entirely sure I can go back to bland bland bland animal blood again."

"Well, I think you've had enough!" Louise said hotly. "And I think you'll have to! Go back, that is!"

"I know, I know," Cattleya said sadly, before perking up. "I wonder if Mother would let me become a vampire hunter! I mean, once you get past all the horrific things happening tonight and how I was almost made to murder you – which totally wouldn't happen with any other vampire – tonight was pretty fun. I could do this all the time, and no one minds if you drain a vampire dry. We got to spend time together, I got really good meals... so, so good... and best of all, we made the world better! It was so good!"

There was a grumbling of irate noises from the minions.

"Steady, steady," Maxy said, hastily. "Remember, sister what is a vamp is like overlady and was raised by Good parents. They not know the proper meaning of words."

"Oh yeah."

"True, that."

"About that," Louise said, ignoring the rumbling of her murderous goblinoids, "... Cattleya? Rather than asking Mother, would you like to come with me and..."

She had been thinking of a sales pitch. A way of explaining it. A way to carefully persuade her sister that she should come with her, help her, and so – and this was the bit she wasn't going to mention – be kept away from mother when she seemed to be enjoying blood rather too much.

Any further attempts to carefully explain the benefits, however, were cut short when Cattleya locked her in a flying tackle and hugged her close. Louise tried very hard not to breathe, because her sister reeked of blood. She also did her best to put the state of her armour out of her mind, especially regarding how much she would need to pay Jessica to fix it again.

"Of course of course of course!" the older girl said gleefully. "Of course I will help you! Louise, thanks to you that horrid, horrid man is dead and I'm free! And you're my sister! We're family... and not the horrific blood-drinking cruel kind of family! We can go back to my room, your minions can move that magical rock thing you found, we can pick up some stuff, and then we can go right away!"

* * *

...

* * *

The wardrobe had been manhandled – or rather, vampiricfemalehandled – through the window, and was making its way off the estate, carried by three minions who had been told that if they made sure it was removed safely, they would each get a dress at the end of it. So too had the bed, which had turned out to have a mattress made of soil. Now, Cattleya was finishing a letter for their parents while Louise drank a warm milk which had been prepared for her by the maid, Anne. Louise had questioned her as to whether she was surprised by Cattleya coming back covered in blood, but apparently it was just a thing that happened and the maid was now working industriously on trying to remove the stains from the nightgown.

Louise felt it was futile, but the peasantry had their ways and they liked to feel busy. The fact that Fettid, still wearing one of her dresses, appeared to be helping her was... well, she wasn't going to question things. So instead she drank her milk and listened to the scratch of her sister's pen.

"It is finished," Cattleya said, suddenly appearing before her.

Louise spluttered, and milk went up her nose as she began to cough. "Can you... not do that, please?" she asked, once she had her choking under control.

"Oops?"

The overlady sighed, and began to read.

_Dear Mother and Father,_

_By the time you read this letter I will be gone. I am writing this letter in the very best hope that you will understand what I am doing, and I hope and pray that you understand that every last word I write here is true. I will understand if you do not believe me, for I am not a trustworthy creature, but I can only hope that you will. At least this will let me get my story down, if we do not speak peacefully again._

_This night, a calling I did not even know I had been feeling became too strong to resist, and I found myself drawn to the secret lake, to the tomb of Louis de la Vallière. I think he has been calling for quite some time, building in strength despite the wards and the running water which keeps him trapped. And I was not the only one who was drawn there, because the dark overlady from the north, the one who killed the comte de Mott, was also there. She was looking for the artefact of Evil you used to bind our hated ancestor, though – perhaps she had felt his lure amplified by her search for it. I do not know._

_Before you worry, I have talked to her about the artefact and I believe her to be telling the truth when she says it is a fragment of an ancient thing of much malevolence called a 'tower heart' which must be kept whole. At some point, the tower heart was damaged, and the fragments sold off; this is bad, for damage to a tower heart can – she says – depopulate entire regions. I consider it wiser to allow a minor force of evil to exist than to risk losing perhaps the entire North, though I do not know for sure and you are of course wiser than me in such matters._

_But that is a distraction. The overlady wished to see the vampire dead once she had discovered his existence, and... and I must admit I was weak. You know how much I hate what I am, that I am forced to live like this, and the chance for revenge was too much to pass up. I was prideful and foolish, though, and in my hate I ignored your warnings. He took control of me when we were in the tomb._

_And this is where the terrifying thing comes in. Through some means, perhaps linked to the tower heart, the overlady had found a way to counter the immortality possessed by the Duke which exceeded even that of the normal undead. And she found a hidden artefact in the tomb which he used to anchor it, and broke his connection. Using the fragment in his chest, she drained his power, and... and she laughed and let me have my revenge on him._

_I killed the Bloody Duke. Mother, father, this is the truth. I... I sunk my fangs into his neck, drained out his blood, and left him a husk drained of all blood and life. The overlady burned the body, and we scattered the ashes in the running water of the rivers._

_He is dead. I am free from him._

_And this is not the only other thing I must tell you. The overlady... she says she knows where Louise is, that she keeps her close at all times. She says Louise is not dead, but merely is not allowed to return home until whatever the overlady has planned comes to pass. Louise ran away from the shame of her failed summoning, trying to become an adventuring Hero as a way of proving herself, but stumbled into the tower of the overlady. She killed a vampire who had done many wicked things, but then ended up trapped. So I have gone with the overlady. I will make sure my little sister remains safe. I may be dead, but I will not allow her to die, too._

_Please do not come looking for me. The dark overlady has hinted that she knows where Louise is at all times, and that if you came something terrible would happen to her. And I can feel – just feel in my heart – that she's telling the truth. When I get to where she's taking me, I will make sure to find out the truth. If she's lying... well, I will try to leave, but I am sure she is not! I will do my very best to make sure that Louise comes to no harm and to work within the dark lady's organisation in the name of righteousness and the crown!_

_I will try my very hardest not to indulge in my little illness and keep it from public knowledge, like I am meant to. If I am found out despite my best efforts... well, clearly it was the dark wicked overlady who infected a poor innocent girl with this dreadful condition, and you will mourn me for who I once was. I will try my very, very best to not bring shame on the family name._

_If you never see me again, I just want you to know that I love you all so very much, and that I will be eternally grateful for these past ten years of continued life, when by rights I should have been put to death years ago. And I am so dreadfully sorry for whatever grief I may bring you._

_I love you all. I will always love you, no matter what. And with the grace of God, the next time I see you I will have Louise safe with me._

_Your loving daughter,_

_Ayelttac_

Louise finished reading the letter. With mixed emotions, she put it down. Part of her knew how selfish she was being, how she was hurting her family by pretending to be dead. Oh, she'd known it before, but this brought things home to her. And now she was responsible for taking Cattleya – who was now, properly, a blood-sucking undead monster – away. She hoped her parents would never find out what she had done. And, guiltily, there was also glee, because now she'd have her big sister with her and someone to talk to and... well, a vampire would be useful in rescuing Princess Henrietta, right? She shouldn't think of Cattleya as a useful tool, but she would be.

But probably chief among the mixed emotions she was feeling was exasperation. "Cattleya," she said, wearily, "you've written your name backwards."

Her big sister winced, and massaged the back of her neck. "Sorry, sorry," she said sheepishly. She rapped on her skull with her knuckles. "Silly, silly hollow-headed me. I just do that sometimes when I get distracted. I'll go correct it right away." She took the letter back and scrawled out the signature, her tongue sticking out as she focussed on writing it again. "Is that better?"

Louise sniffed and wiped her eyes – it was just the dust, really! – and nodded. "Yes, it is," she said. "Now... take what you need to take, and we can go. Silently. I'll have the minions carry your baggage."

"I need to say goodbye to my animals," Cattleya said, nodding. "Well, most of them. I'll be taking a few of them along, because... well, I'll miss them too much otherwise. And... um, I might get hungry, because I don't think you'll have a proper set up to make sure I can eat. I'll be taking Anne too, because you can't expect me to go without her. I can't even do my morning toilet without her, because... well, no reflection. She has to do my plaits."

"Fine," Louise said, sadly, slumping down on a cushion-filled armchair. She winced at the tearing noise, as something gave way under her slightly-spiky armoured bulk. Hopefully Cattleya had not noticed.

From the side room, Louise could hear the barking of hounds and the cawing of birds, as her sister's menagerie welcomed her. "Sorry," her sister said. "I won't be able to feed you and you'll have to be good. I can only take some of you." There was a caterwauling. "No, there's no need to be like that. You can live here fine. No... down! Down boy!"

Louise smiled faintly.

"No! No, Ursa, I can't take you with me," Cattleya said, in response to what sounded like... a roar? "You're mother's, after all. You'll just have to go back to her room. She'll notice you're missing when she gets back."

A sad roar.

"There, there. I'll be back soon! Now, come on boys! Come with me!" The door opened again, and Louise boggled slightly.

"Catt?" she said, slowly, staring at the waist-high black-furred monsters padding beside her sister. "Those are wolves."

Cattleya shook her head. "Louise, Louise, Louise. All dogs are wolves."

"... no. Catt, those are wolves. With sharp teeth and glowing red eyes and..." Louise paused. "Cattleya, why do you have vampire wolves? What did you do to those poor creatures!"

"They're not vampires!" Cattelya said, sounding offended. "And trust me, Louise, dogs and wolves are the same kind of creature! They can have adorable little puppies together!"

"The details of what makes a wolf and what makes a dog different is not in question! Those are wolves! Vampire wolves!"

"They are not!" Cattleya paused. "I only enthralled them! Else they were too scared of me! And that makes them all tame and playful and friendly! Anyway, one of my vampire powers is I can summon wolves, and father doesn't mind that because he says that wolves are less dangerous than the black hounds he breeds for his hunting." She paused. "I can also turn into one," she added, as if this were a minor point that she had only just remembered.

Louise sighed. "Fine. Perfect. Why not? So you're taking them with us. Go ahead."

"I was thinking that your adorable cute minions could ride my puppies," Cattleya said, pouting.

There was a clatter from Fettid over by the washboard, as she dropped everything. "Overlady sister is best sister in whole world!" she said, gleefully.

* * *

…


	21. Another Heroic Interlude

**Another Heroic Interlude**

Snow fell in flurries outside the window. Magelights streamed out through the frost-fern-painted windows, illuminating the snow outside in a contrast of light and shadow. Montmorency de la Montmorency looked outside in disgust, and sighed.

"You know," she said, "we're going to have to go out in that to get to the palace. And it'll be cold and wet and unpleasant. Even if we're taking a coach, it'll probably be damp and we'll get snowed on and... urgh. I hate winter. You know, down in Romalia it hardly ever snows." She sighed again, smoothing down her long, flowing pale blue dress and picking at the lace which trimmed its bodice. "When _is _Kirche going to be ready?"

Guiche shrugged, and then checked himself in the mirror to make sure that the motion had not marred his appearance in any way. "I don't know. Something female, I think. She's not doing her hair, because I was done quarter of an hour ago. Are you _sure _my cravat is tied properly? I'd just hate to meet the queen with it improperly done up."

There was the rasp of paper as Tabitha turned a page. Compared to the coiffed fripperies of the other two, she had put on a formal mantle, and hints suggested that she was probably wearing a dress under the long garment. Certainly, though, compared to the elaborateness of the other two, she appeared shockingly severe and plain. "Eet eez fine," she said, simply. "Guiche, I like zis... this house. Thank your father, yes?"

"Where is she?" fretted Monmon. "This... this isn't funny any more! We managed to get there just in the nick of time to save the Romalian ambassador from being replaced by that soulless duplicate made from his own blood and shadow! If we're late for being rewarded for it... if she isn't down in the next five minutes, I'm going up there! I swear, if she has a... a man in there, right now, at this time? I... I will do something which... oh. Oh my."

The 'oh' was because Kirche von Zerbst had just descended down the stairs of the Gramont townhouse. Her hair was curled and fell in long elaborate tresses over her shoulders and down her back. Lip paint had been carefully applied, her face rouged, and her eyelashes carefully darkened with soot. Her face was further framed by her high, lacy collar, which formed a running lace-filled motif throughout her dress. Her pointed jerkin was a deep red which set off her skin tone, trimmed with bronze and lace; her baggy hosiery was an immaculate black. And she set off her mode of dress with a knee-high pair of boots, soled with iron high heels.

In other words, she was dressed and made-up in a blatantly masculine way. And from the creaking she made as she moved, there was elaborate corsetry under her clothing which was giving her the narrow waist, flat chest and broad shoulders of an attractive young man.

"Oh my," said Monmon again, feeling decidedly peculiar. "What... my, my. What are you wearing? And... where..." she made vague cupping motions, "... how are you shaped like that?"

"Corsets. Yes, there is a reason I am dressed like this," Kirche said breathily. "No, don't explode on me, Montmorency. Yes, it is perfectly decent to be dressed like this – otherwise it wouldn't be fine for Guiche to be wearing something similar. No, I do not have the _patience _to explain why I am like this. Is that all right?"

"Let us go," Tabitha said, rising while still staring at her book.

"But..." Guiche said dumbly, "... you're... you're dressed like a man? Why? You're being presented to the court? Shouldn't you be wearing one of those daring gowns which completely expose the décolletage? And... how are you even getting a better build than me? Who's your tailor? You're are a fair flower, in very full bloom and..."

Kirche stomped over to him in her high-heeled boots, and quite deliberately ground her heel into his toe, making him yelp.

"Listen, Gramont," Kirche hissed. "Does it hurt when I stand on your toe? Does it? Does it hurt to have your flesh crushed like that? Well, I've got that going on around the region of my chest and I have whalebone digging into my ribs. I am not in a good mood. If you mess with me, I _will _set you on fire. I hope I'm getting dressed up like this for no reason, but I fear I'm not. So don't ask until afterwards when I can get this off and breathe properly again. Or I will burn you." She paused, panting. "If I have enough breath to manage the spell," she added. "Ow, ow, ow. I think I'm going to need a new one of these made. Again. I mean, do you want to _see _what I have under here?"

Monmon slapped Guiche over the back of the head pre-emptively.

"What was that for?" he protested, smoothing out his hair.

"That, sweet Guiche, was in case you felt like arguing that a direct invitation to do so was in fact permission," the girl said acidly.

"But she..." he began, before yelping when she flicked him on the ear. "Women!" he said, throwing up his hands and deliberately turning his back on them.

"Late," said Tabitha, over by the door.

* * *

...

* * *

"... and so we would like to thank you all, especially Guiche de Gramont who has done so well to maintain the good name of his family, for your brave and heroic actions in thwarting the wiles of our enemies," said Queen Marianne, eyes passing over the group slowly from her vantage point on her throne. Her burgundy hair was streaked with white; there were harsh lines around her eyes which were not on the older paintings. "To this end, we intend to reward you all. Guiche de Gramont and Montmorency de la Montmorency, we intend to make you both chevaliers of the realm. Your companions are not our subjects, but they too will be granted the title in honorary recognition of their actions – though neither the rights nor the obligations of a chevalier of Tristain will fall upon them."

Guiche bowed deeply, and Montmorency curtsied. "Your majesty is too kind," the boy said. He was still shooting slightly disturbed periodic glances at Kirche, and this side of her he had never seen before, but she had only threatened him when he had tried to ask her in the coach here.

"You have done a great service to the realm, by saving the Romalian ambassador," Armand Jean du Plessis, the duc de Richelieu, said smoothly, from his wooden desk in front of the queen's throne. "His death would have been an embarrassment for our great nation. Ambassadors are sacrosanct, and so are lamentably often a target for those with malevolent intent, but this was far too close for comfort."

"In truth," Montmorency said, "your grace, it was luck – or perhaps the will of the Lord – that we stumbled across this plot. We merely found a cryptic clue in the lair of a bandit chieftain which hinted at darker deeds, and we followed it." She did not mention that the torn piece of paper had mentioned a payment of five thousand écu for some unspecified favour, because that was not the sort of thing one mentioned in the heroic reward ceremony.

"Surely it was divine favour!" the duc stated. "Why, I have heard mention of your deeds not infrequently in the past year – starting, of course, Gramont, by the way you personally captured that horrible woman who called herself Fouquet who fortunately still rots in jail. The sheer genius of how you managed that – which of course needs no introduction to all of us – will be told in story for years hereafter!" The man's face darkened. "Of course," he said, more seriously, "I fear that this is a time which will soon need heroes."

"Yes!" the queen interrupted, raising her voice. "This is indeed a dark time! A time where the young become disloyal! When your feckless daughter courts disaster with her wicked and sinful and ill-mannered affairs!" She peered down at the four rewardees. "I hope none of you even think of engaging in wicked and sinful behaviour with men or women!" she demanded. "Don't you dare! I forbid it!"

"I assure you," Kirche said breathily, "I do not _think _of doing anything of that ilk with men and I certainly don't do anything with women."

The queen sniffed. "At least some people appear to have some decency," she said. "Unlike my dreadful, dreadful daughter! Who has fallen into the wicked ways of her half-uncle, and her great aunt, and her great grandfather, and her great great grandmother, and..."

The duc coughed. "Thank you, your majesty, for such instructional messages to the youth of today," he said, smiling oilily. The man rose. "If you do not mind, your majesty," he said, already approaching the quartet, "I have a few minor technical matters to discuss with the brave heroes, which might as well be dealt with now."

Carefully, he led them out into a lush sideroom with comfortable seats, and sat himself down, steepling his fingers before him. "Be seated," the duc said. "Please, forgive the queen. Her nerves are... not what they used to be. Her daughter's actions have put her under great stress and worry, ever-thinking about the safety of our country. To that end, she has delegated much of the petty details of the government to us, her loyal Council of Regents, while she concentrates on the larger picture and recovers from her shaken nerves. It was unusual for her to appear like this today, but she insisted on meeting her brave heroes."

Guiche assured the man that they were suitably flattered, complimenting the queen as he did so with flower-based metaphors. "And so like the rose, her thorns ward away many threats," he concluded.

The duc de Richelieu smiled thinly. "Quite so," he said. "I will not ask for your oaths on the state of the queen, but I do ask that you please bear in mind that we are treating her with care and we have entire monasteries hired to pray for her recovery while the Council keeps the country working. And it is of the Council I wish to speak... or rather the demise of the comte de Mott." He coughed. "I do hope I'm not boring you," he added, directed at Tabitha, who had not said a word and on closer inspection was reading a palm-sized book behind her hands.

"No," she said, not looking up.

"On the comte de Mott... it was just dreadful!" Monmon said, her hand going to her mouth. "A wicked force of darkness struck that much-loved man down!"

"Quite so, quite so." The duc looked grim. "As master of the royal courts, it is my task to ensure that law and order is kept in force in these lands," he said, staring at them from across his hands. "There is a dark power rising in the north, and throughout this year, since summer, it has attacked tax collectors and other symbols of government authority. I fear it is no mere greed, however; it has also raided farms, shipments of backpowder, and even things as innocent as flocks of chickens going to market."

"We've mostly been in the west since the holidays – which are the only time we can go adventuring – started," Kirche said. "Not the north."

"Yes. It's too cold up there, with the wind coming off the Great North Sea," Monmon agreed. "I detest Amstreldamme."

"Quite right," the duc agreed, "but sadly Françoise Athénaïs likes that wretched swampy city and its improbable number of lightning strikes, so I must go there more than I like. But still. Evil breeds Evil," he said, "and one overlord – or overlady, as the case might be – means more emerge. I cannot tolerate such things! We must bring down the iron fist of the state upon them! Crush all rebellions! Kill all necromancers, vampires, orcs, goblins, heretics, Protestants and other such disgusting things which take the rise of Evil as a sign to come out the woodwork. Our allies in Albion are working to civilise the loathsome orcs, putting them to productive use in the name of righteousness, and I have high hopes that we one day might be able to use such dumb beasts as cheap labour, but alas! Other things slow down the march of all that is right and proper.

"I am trying to get more funds to expand the authority of the crown to combat such malignant forces, expanding the army and keeping security as our watchword to fight the forces of terror, but sadly the high nobility are being obstructionist." The duc sneered. "Especially the duc de la Vallière. He claims we intrude on the traditional rights of the nobility when we make perfectly reasonable proposals to defend us from Evil. Well, I say we need only see what generations of de la Vallières have done with those rights!"

He smiled, as the muffled sounds of a disturbance could be heard from outside the lavish chamber.

"Of course, what I say is naturally a private conversation, but I have heard certain... rumours that he has dabbled in dark magic himself. While in his youth he may have been a hero, it would not be unheard of for someone such as him, especially one who lives on cursed land – cursed by the actions of his ancestors, I might add – to fall to evil. After all, even his very own mother was a murderer who killed hundreds of innocents to bathe in their blood, and we know how magical talent – and perhaps other things – pass from the mother, do we not? But of course, it would be unfair to defame him. I merely think we should consider whether the disappearance of his youngest daughter – who by all accounts was a failure, perhaps because of tainted blood which he might have blamed himself for – perhaps drove him over the edge to madness."

There was a distinctly uncomfortable silence from three of the oh-so-brave heroes, and a flick of a page from Tabitha. "Eez dreadful shame," she said, flatly. "I... what eez that noise?"

"Yes, indeed! What _is _that noise?" the duc de Richleau asked, half-twisting in his seat. "There's a commotion going on outside and it is rather annoying."

The door splintered at the hinges, and fell in. Everyone rose, in shock and surprise.

"All right!" said the newcomer, in a voice which did not so much 'say' things as 'bellow' or possibly 'assert'. "All rise! Rrrrawrr! The room just got six thousand percent sexier! There you are, ducky!" he said to Richleau. "Your queen's just a good kisser as usual, you know! I went where only two men and one woman have been before! And your maids are a fine crop this year!" The man dumped the rather ruffled maid he was carrying onto the ground unceremoniously, and spread his arms wide. "My son! Give your father a manly hug!"

It was at this point Montmorency noticed two things. Firstly, she distinctly heard the duc de Richleau sigh 'Oh Founder, it's him'. And secondly, from somewhere a false moustache has appeared and now dwelt on Kirche's upper lip. It was not as fine a moustache as the one which lived on the newcomer, which was waxed such that it reached out to his ears, but it was clearly aiming in a similar direction.

It was a very nice moustache, the blonde could not help but think. And it somehow made even Kirche seem... tingly.

The man with the gigantic moustache gave his cross-dressing daughter a bone-crushing hug. In fact, from the way that Kirche paled and made a faint 'ghee' sound, it was possibly not a metaphor to describe it in that way.

"I still see you're associating with that flat-chested wonder, boy," the markgraf bellowed, glancing over at Tabitha, who was reading. "I keep on telling you, she'll be a stunner in ten years time, but you need to stop her wearing glasses. Only men who are inadequate in the trouser department need their women to put on optical enhancement! For you, she'll need to put on a blindfold, or her brain might melt from the blinding glory of the greatest weapon of the von Zerbsts! Rrrrawr!"

Kirche didn't say anything, because there wasn't much you could really say to a remark like that. Monmon was about to object, before Kirche deliberately stood on her foot. Sadly, the hopping-up-and-down-in-pain drew the markgraf's attention, as motion tended to do.

"And who's this?" he asked, eyeing up the blonde in a way which left her feeling somewhat naked under the gaze.

"She's with me," interrupted Kirche hastily, wheezing. "As in, _with _me."

The man snorted. "You could do better, son! But at least she's better than boobless bluey over there!"

"What?" Montmorency managed.

"So, where haven't you been, father!" Kirche said.

"Exactly! Rrawwwr!" He accompanied that statement with unnecessary pelvic thrusting. "But now this is a place I haven't not been! See that? I just tied that sentence into a knot! Just like a pair of very flexible Gallian sisters I met down in Tolou! That was one hell of a knot! Under, over, under again, figure of eight, half-nelson and then securing it with a shawshank! Rrrawwrr!"

Guiche had by this pointed started shaking. "You're... you're the Markgraf Blitzhart von Zerbst!" he managed. "The... the best swordsman, drinker, giant-slayer and lover in all of Germania!"

"Well recognised, boy," the markgraf said, before wrinkling his nose as he looked Guiche up and down. "Though what are you? Some kind of poof? Grow some facial hair!"

"I have all your books!" Guiche blurted out. "Even 'Breaking Into The Shuttered Garden: My Adventures In Rub-al-Khali'. And that was really hard to find!"

"Damn straight it was! I burned all but thirty eight of the copies! Just for the sweet, sweet smell of burning paper!" He paused. "Oh, ducky!"

"Yes," the duc de Richelieu said, eye twitching.

"Got a giant thing for you! Something you've wanted to see for a long while, but which you could never get for yourself! Because you're a dry wrinkled old prune, if you know what I mean! Rwrarrrrr! Hurrah!"

"Hurrah!" called out Guiche.

"Yay," said Tabitha.

The markgraf dropped a sack from his back, which made a thudding noise. "It's the head of the man-eating demon-blooded necromantic giantess who's been tormenting your dull-as-dishwater countryside! I introduced her to the great weapon of the von Zerbsts, and then I cut her head off! Hurrah!"

"Hurrah!"

"Yay."

"Now, son! Glad to see you stop a plot! Burn down any interesting buildings belonging to wrongdoers?"

"A few," Kirche said, swaying slightly, before she blinked. "I mean, I... I hit them like a burning rock and left all the attractive... attractive women in there with the hots! H-hurrah!"

"Hurrah!" her father bellowed. "Your mother sends her love and tells you to wrap up warm! And your brothers aren't doing terribly enough for me to disown them! Now, I just need to get my money off yonder ducky, and then we can go boozing! You can take your filly, boobless blue and pretty boy with you if you must!"

Montmorency, for her part, was rather more concerned by Kirche's state than she was at the idea of going drinking with this man, and that was worrying her in its own right. The other girl was, under the moustache, much paler than usual, and she seemed to be unsteady on her feet. "Kirche, can I talk with you? In private?" she said, leaning towards her.

The look of gratitude on the redhead's face was almost pathetic. "Oh, want to get my clothes off me to check out my b-body this early in the evening?" Kirche said.

"Yes," Monmon answered accurately, albeit not truthfully.

"Good on you, son! Rrrawwr! I'll give you half an hour! In the meantime, how about ducky gives me my money, and in the meantime we can talk about how amazing I am!"

"I would be honoured, sir!" Guiche said, bowing repeatedly. "Is it true that you once killed a succubus from exhaustion?"

"Ah ha ha ha ha! Nonsense! I laugh that that suggestion! She only collapsed from exhaustion! I had to break her neck myself! And then I beat her sister to death with the corpse! Talk about the 'little death'! Rrrawwrr!"

"Killing giants? Eyesocket from start or eez eet better for ze leg tendons first?" asked Tabitha. "Pain or quick killing?"

* * *

…

* * *

Montmorency led Kirche out of the room. She ended up staggering as she tried to support the other girl's weight, and she could feel her trembling. She managed, by the expedient measure of telling a servant than the Markgraf von Zerbst had told them to go to a private room, to find a place with a lockable door and a bed, and then eased Kirche down onto it.

"What's up with you?" she demanded.

"Hurts," Kirche managed. "Think... think he bent the corsetry. Digging in. Can't breathe. Hurts quite a lot." Her fingers scrabbled at the laces of the doublet, to reveal a dented corset which more resembled a light suit of armour than the low-cut chemise which Monmon herself was wearing under her dress. "I... can walk you through. Start with... the straps on the shoulder."

After a few minutes of breathy instructions, the last laces came undone, and the blonde managed to lever the construct of whalebone and iron off her friend. Kirche sucked in a relieved gasp of air. "I owe you one," she said. "Okay, we can put it back on looser and..."

"Not so fast." Monmon narrowed her eyes. "I don't like the way you're breathing. Take the bandages off, too."

Slowly, the bandages which had been aiding in the bosom-binding to allow them to fit into the corset were unfolded, to reveal the skin underneath. "Oh, for goodness…" Monmon sucked in a breath in sympathy when she saw the fresh livid bruises on Kirche's front. "You really are an idiot, you know! Those bandages were far too tight! You were cutting off all circulation! You…" she began testing the ribs with her fingertips, prompting a yelp from Kirche. "I thought so! You idiot! You've actually gone and fractured a rib! Your father fractured at least one rib, and..." Kirche yelped again as the blonde poked another one, "I think that one's busted too! That's more than that werewolf who punched you did!"

"Can you get the shouting done after you do the pain-stopping, please?" Kirche said quietly. "And dad didn't mean to do it. And it was only a wolfwere, and it was in human form at the time. So there's no need to shout about it."

"No! No I certainly will not," the blonde snapped. "I will keep on shouting at you even while I check if that's the only thing you broke in your idiotic attempts to dress like a handsome... like a man!" Founder damn it, why had she said handsome? It was that damnable moustache! That's what it was! With everything else Kirche had on, it was somehow enough to shift her mental image of the other girl to 'pretty man' rather than woman.

"You think I like this?" Kirche growled. "You see how I dress normally. Yes, there are some good things about dressing like a man – I can't stand long skirts – but you think I get some kind of _pleasure _from having to bind my chest so I can't breathe?"

"Then why do it?"

Kirche gave a bitter laugh, which turned into a sigh of relief when the healing magic began. "Oh, come on. Put it together. You saw my father. He wants a son – a legitimate one. So he gets a son. In fact, he gets lots of sons. Despite the fact me and my sisters are… well, girls."

Monmon blinked, sitting back. "Wait. You mean he actually thinks that… that. That wasn't just some overblown persona? Like how Guiche pretends to be more noble and more foppish than he actually is?"

"My father is like that all the time," Kirche informed her. "He views us being born female as a saddening birth defect that we can get over with training and the proper behaviour. 'No daughter of mine will be a weak woman' and all that. I only found out that I was a girl when I was nine when other boys made fun of me when we went swimming." Kirche's face darkened. "That was a pretty horrible day, all in all."

"Uh." The blonde sat back, the glow of magic fading. "I… how does that even work? Girls are girls and boys are… boys."

"You tell the child they're a boy, treat them like a boy, breach them, call them your son." Kirche snorted. "You know how you get on my back for doing things like sitting wrong and talking when chewing? And say I clearly wasn't raised to be a proper lady? Yeah. You've got me dead to rights there." She sighed. "Incidentally, would you mind mussing up your hair and getting your clothes slightly askew before we go back? It'll make my life so much easier."

"... fine," the other girl said, reluctantly. "As long as you don't want anything from it. And you'll help explain things to Guiche." She paused. "In fact, no, don't say anything about it to him. I'll just tell him that you needed me to adjust your lacing. You don't say a thing, because you'll probably end up implying _things _and then he'll get _ideas_."

"Oh, you know me. I like boys. You've got nothing to fear from me. But oh, he doesn't want some man-loving nancy effeminate wuss of a son," Kirche said, her tone of voice shifting to mimic her father. "Real men do heroic deeds with a scantily-clad woman in one arm. Real men can make any woman love them, and leave a trail of conquests behind them."

"… but you're not a real man," Montmorency pointed out. "Although… uh, you do leave a trail of conquests behind you."

"They're boys. They're a mark against my 'manliness'. You're still not thinking like him, Monmon. His sons were tragically born with something akin to a club foot or a hunchback. So he'll help his poor crippled sons get over their deformities and live a normal life. Which is why he got me whores for my fourteenth birthday."

Montmorency said nothing. There… uh, wasn't much she could say.

"That was a really educational experience," Kirche said. "Those twins knew all kinds of things."

The other girl could see a vast yawning chasm ahead of her in the conversation, yet somehow, in fascinated horror, could not say a single thing to avoid it.

"I basically broke down in tears because I really, really didn't want to do anything, didn't even know what I was meant to do, and they took pity on me," Kirche continued. "I ended up spending the time asking them about the stuff my father's probably never even thought about from the female perspective and my mother's too pathetic to explain to a growing girl. I should almost be thanking him for it, except what I got from it was... probably the opposite of what he wanted. Talking rather than... ow, don't poke that!"

The blonde sighed in relief. "Well… that could have gone worse," she said to herself.

"Tell me about it," Kirche said. "Now, if you don't mind? My ribs? And maybe the bruising too?" She raised her hands in mock surrender. "You can lace it up this time and make sure it's not too tight, if you must," she said.

The next few minutes were intensely awkward for Montmorency de la Montmorency. Not because of the healing; it was a fairly simple magic, and the breaks were only partial. No, what it meant was that she had to spend time leaning over Kirche. Close to the moustache and the way it suddenly seemed to call to her to try kissing those lips.

"You want to know one of the reasons I got you lot into the adventuring thing in the first place?" Kirche said, talking mostly to herself. "Because to be frank, my position isn't too secure. Oh, he loves me. But I don't doubt for a moment if he had a _real _son, I wouldn't be his heir any more. At the moment, I'm just his least-bad choice, and my mother is still having babies, and he'll remarry if she dies. Unless something manages to kill him, my place isn't all that secure." She winced, not from the physical pain. "I don't want him dead! I love him; he's my father! But... the odds are against me staying his heir. So I need money and preferably land of my own, or I'll end up dependent on a baby brother or... or he'll decide he's fine with having a daughter now he has a real son and he'll marry me off to some old geezer." She sighed. "I want to be in a position where I can marry for love, or at the very least my own personal gain, not his. So we need to go adventuring. You get that, even if Guiche and Tabby don't seem to."

"Yes," the blonde said tersely. Montmorency just had to focus on the clearly-female chest, and she didn't have to think about it. Everything was fine as long as she didn't look at the face. And then... argh, argh, Founder damn it, when the bandages went back on and then they started on the corset, there wasn't a safe place to look.

Calm down, she told herself. You're interested in Guiche, after all. Well, interested when he's not being a jerk and thoughtless and looking at other women and you're not jealous when he does that, you just don't see what you like about him when he acts like a pig. But that means you like your men more... clean. Smoother. Soft-skinned. Not like some bearded leathery butcher. So... when Kirche is dressed like a man, trying to pretend to be a man, she's just... fooling you! You're not attracted to her, you're attracted to the son her father wants who she's pretending to be!

… which wasn't a bad thing, because you did have to admit, for a man of his age Blitzhart von Zerbt had aged very well.

Oh yes! And this is just _acting_. She has to pretend to her father – Founder, he sounds horrible – that she is dating you like... like a man would! So getting hot and flustered and embarrassed will just help persuade him! So everything is safe! And...

"Kirche, please take off the moustache. It's off-putting," she begged.

And with it gone, everything was better.

* * *

…

* * *

"... and would you have it, but we were surrounded on all four sides!" the markgraf roared. "So what I did was, I picked up my sword, and told the men, 'You call this a tercio? You're going to be in a whole world of hurtsio if you don't fight your way out of a simple envelopment! Because I'll kill you myself!' And would you know, they bucked their aim right up and we fought our way out! And on the way, this dragon was going to try to eat me when... wham! I jumped up, broke the hinges of its jaw, and its rider was so overcome by passion that she fainted! Nice girl! Shame about the eyebrow, but that's what you get from an Iberian! Hurrah!"

"Hurrah!"

"Yay." Tabitha coughed. "Undetectable poisons? What eez the most leezal someone haz used on you?"

"Basalisk venom is always a pain in the guts!" the red-haired man said. "Tastes pretty good, but makes your insides cramp up! And by that, I mean your lungs! Someone dosed me once, but I just drank a bottle of fine Rusean spirits and then set fire to it! Burns it out! Same reason it can't be put in cooked food!"

"Ah." Tabitha made a note. "Mix wiz a heat-activated venom, zen."

"Tried that on me! Romalian sleezeball; said he'd poisoned one cup of two, and told me to pick one! I slugged that slimy Romalian one, and then made him drink both! If some git tries to put you in some bloody stupid logic puzzle or – worse – poetical justice thing with poetry and such crap, slug 'em one! Always served me well in life!"

"Fazcinating."

Blitzhart von Zerbst rose, grinning broadly at the sight of the dishevelled Kirche and Montmorency, although his face fell slightly at the sight of the notably change in Kirche's shape which the loosening of the corsetry had produced. "Get her on her knees, thanking God and Founder for the day you were born?" he asked.

"Less praying, more screaming and shouting," Kirche said, finding refuge in factual accuracy.

"Good lad! If a woman can sit down after you're done with them, you're doing them wrong!" The markgraf checked his pocket watch. "Good heavens, is that the time? Curse it! I was just too awesome to explain how awesome I am in just thirty minutes! I nearly took a whole hour! Sorry, lad! I've just remembered; I've got half an hour to get across the city and stop abyssal cultists from blowing up the blackpowder depot down by the waterside! Got to run!"

And with that said, he jumped out the window with a shattering of glass.

There was a moment of shocked silence, and then a distant 'hurrah' from the street below.

"What a man," Guiche said, with a great sigh. "Founder! If I could just be half… no, a fifth as dashing as him, well, I'd be so dashing I could win any race you'd care to mention."

"'E eez… 'ow do you say it, 'the man', no?" Tabitha said indistinctly, studiously sketching something in the margins of her book. "I wonder eef 'e would keel a king eef 'e thought ze man was evil? Eef he 'ad found some evidence, perhaps, no?"

"Oh, he would and has," Kirche said morosely. "He has the head of Ferdinand the Black mounted on the wall at home. Next to the head of a dragon, and Xyctlymrnyl the Unpronouncable, who tried to invade our lands. That was an 'exciting' Silver Pentecost. The demons were a welcome relief considering the mood my father was in because my youngest brother was another girl." She sighed. "My family is mucked up."

"That eez fascinating," Tabitha sad, the corners of her mouth creeping up slyly. "And I would not say zat zere… there eez a problem with you."

Montmorency cleared her throat. "Guiche," she suggested. "Have you ever thought of growing a moustache?"

"Yes," the boy said, eyes gleaming. "You heard his advice, too?"

"... yes, of course," the girl said hastily. "His advice is totally the best. You should see what you look like with one. See if he was right." She laughed nervously. "No other reason."

* * *

...


	22. Party Up

_"Dear diary. They're going to be announcing the invites for the Silver Pentagram winter award ceremonies today, and I know I'm on at least one longlist. This is so exciting! I should get shortlisted, if anything's fair! Surely the Profaneglade libertines will accept that my work's all over the journals! Dad says not to get my hopes up, because I'm up against both the way my mother was Heroic and mortal, and his own reduced status, but I really, really want this! Even if I don't win, I should at least get an invite, right?"_

– J'eszika Moraudat D'aemonstrelle Obfuscata Xystene Elee'ze Imoegene Malevola Ebony Invidia Pyrene va S'kareryeon , Princess of the Blood-in-Exile of the Abyss, Vicomtesse of the Descending Spheres (contested claim), Heir Apparent to the Rising Tower (contested claim)

* * *

…

* * *

Deep below the earth, in wretched, stinking places, the forces of Evil gather. In their wicked, sinful ways, they prepare for their foul plans and gather what resources they need to eternally overthrow the weakened world of all that is good and proper. The men and women of Righteousness have often wished that they knew all the horrific deeds their opponents plotted in their secret fortresses, but alas! Such knowledge is not for mortal men to know.

"I'm sure the room is changing in size!" wailed Cattleya de la Vallière, falling to her knees in abject despair. "Why can't I get the carpet to fit properly?"

Her maid stared back at her in incomprehension. "You said it was twenty metres across both times, my lady?" she said slowly.

"No, not exactly! It… it was twenty metres and nineteen centimetres the first time, and twenty metres and twenty one centimetres the second time! And… and if I'm wrong, I'll have to see how there's a bit of exposed carpet around the edges of the room, or it's all bunched up, and it'll drive me just _crazy_." Cattleya shuddered, but elegantly. "It'd be as bad as if the paintings were squint!"

With a great, chest-heaving sigh she threw herself face-down onto her new bed, and bounced. For all that the wretched carpet was working against her, it was nevertheless a good room. Much, much larger than her one at home; her sister had told her to take free pick of them, as it wasn't like she had a shortage. She had so much space she had put her things in a smaller area, and installed paper walls like the ones in books about the Mystic East to keep the space more manageable. Her bed was lovely, and they'd packed the area under it with soil from the de la Vallière estate so she was sleeping wonderfully in the day. And she had jolly nice statues of roses that she'd found in an old abandoned room in the tower and glued back together, and she had helped usher a bunch of bats into living in the rafters and enthralled them so they only pooed outside her room, and generally did all those jolly useful things which made a place feel homey.

There had been so much space, she had even got Anne a nice room about the size of Cattleya's own place at home. The poor girl seemed to be moping slightly from lack of sunlight, but she was allowed to go out whenever she wanted and seemed to be getting on very well with the adorable little minions. It was lovely to see everything turning out so well!

Rolling back over, Cattleya noticed that Anne had her hand raised. She was just placidly waiting there, waiting for Cattleya to give her permission to sleep. She pursed her lips. The girl was getting weaker, duller and less… independent, which suggested that she had to give her a break from feeding. Or possibly that she should just accept that she would be that way, and go ahead and enthral her so at least that way she'd get some extra powers from it and… no! Cattleya deliberately bit her own tongue in punishment. She wasn't meant to think like that. It was wrong and it was naughty and while it was acceptable to enthral animals – as, after all, normal mages turned animals into familiars – to do that to a human would be wrong.

She clearly needed to get away from Anne and her tempting, tempting blood for a while, and take a break while going back to bland bland bland animal. Just because she was away from home and might be allowing herself more human once in a while was not an excuse for sloppiness and getting into bad habits. Bad habits would get her in so much trouble with Mother when her and Louise went back home.

"What is it, Anne?" she asked, because the girl had been standing there patiently with her hand raised while the internal debate occurred.

"I can finish the carpet things," the other girl said slowly. "I… I will get the big size, and I will cut it down if it is too large. And measure it again before, to be sure."

Rolling over, Cattleya pushed off her bed, and gave her maid a – literally – flying hug. "You're so right!" she said, delighted. "I'll leave this in your hands. I just can't stand not getting this right! So I won't look! It's the best solution!" Landing again, her dress flapping around her in an unseen wind, she stepped outside of her room, and looked up and down – flinching slightly away from the burning torch at one end of the corridor.

Steeling her nerves, Cattleya took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and ran past it.

Yes. She really needed a breath of fresh air. And a drink of fresh blood, because her pyrophobia was getting worse. She could feel herself getting all dry, from the inside-out. Like a sponge slowly dripping down into a basin. And if she had to go out hunting… she might as well ask her sister if she had anything useful for her to do.

Oooh! Oooh! And she could get her a surprise present for the Silver Pentecost while she was out! Which made it much better that she was going out to drain most of the life from some poor innocent animal!

* * *

…

* * *

In the cavernous depths of the treasury, illuminated by burning torches, the minions were working.

"Remember, you slackers, gold and gems go in that corner, silver in that corner, and other metals in that one! All stuff what does not look like shinies is to go in middle, to be sorted later! Silver what have vampy blood on it and other metal what is dirty go to Igni and other reds in middle, who will do their cleaniness on it!" yelled Maggat, pacing up and down in his armour made of skeletons like the world's smelliest and most morbid assayer. "If any of you reds go burny on paintings, I beat your skulls in! If you go burny again after you get brought back, I give you to Fettid! We is sorting the money of the overlady and stuff what lose her money make her angry and her voice go loud and high-pitched and use long words and so it make me angry!"

"Uh! Hello?!" called a voice from the door, keeping well back. The overlady's sister poked her head in. "Uh… where is Louise? Do you know?"

Maggat narrowed his eyes at the vampire. He had not entirely forgiven her for tearing his head off, but the overlady would be unhappy at him if he took revenge and an unhappy overlord often took days to let you die. "The mistress is with the hive," he said. "She doing stuff with it."

"Oh. Okay!" There was a pause. "Oh, you're all so cute!" the vampire called out, before vanishing.

"I more like handsome," Maxy said.

"I certainly cute," Fettid volunteered, fingering her cleavers.

"No, Fettid, you cut-e," Maxy said.

"That too!" the green agreed cheerfully. She produced a knife from somewhere and twirled it expertly, giving it a thoughtful look as she did. "You know, I thinking, maybe I need to see if I can stealsies some cursed magic knives or something. Overlady not a knifey kind of overlady, so she not want to use them. I not see why, because knivesies are the stabbitiest kinda thing ever, but she is overlady so her way not for us to know."

"Like long wordsies!"

"And what peoples what are not Maxy and so crazy see in poetry!"

Igni looked up sadly. "Overlady now have sister around, and sister is vampy, so we going to have a lot of…" he focussed, "melon-drama and with melon-dramas come poetry," he said. "I tell you…" and that was as far as he got before his inattention led to one of the other reds inadvertently tossing a fireball into the noxious chemicals before him.

The explosion sent horned bodies flying everywhere, often in several parts. The younger Minions outside the blast radius ogled and 'aw'ed in glee, while their more experienced kin merely ducked to avoid the occasional leg, being accustomed to far more impressive carnage.

A red hand landed limply before Maggat, twitching. Idly, he picked it up for a blue to take. But now he had five hands. Well, he had five hands which were not his. So… he had one human hand's worth of hands.

Wait a moment.

His eyes opened wide, in sudden, horrified realisation of a cosmic truth which forced its way into his minionly brain.

If… if he had a hand of hands, then what if he had a hand of hand of hands? But it would be really hard to carry around that many hands, so what if he instead used the fingers on one hand to count the number of imaginary hands he had? And then a hand of hand of hand of hands? Beyond that… why, he'd have to get more hands to count the hands which he was counting on.

Maggat twitched slightly.

"Oy!" yelled out Igni. "Maggat! That my hand you got! What is you, stoopid? I not give it to you because I like you! I not give it to you at all!"

The hand fell out of Maggat's grasp with a wet thud, and the brown-skinned minion stared at the coins scattered on the floor before him with new eyes. "There are… three hands and four coins in front of me," he breathed in the voice of one announcing a revolutionary discovery.

"What was that?"

"I dunno."

"I think… it sound like Gnarl when he do the counting?"

"Nah, can't be."

Maggat raised his voice. "There are… one hand and one hand… there are two hand burning torches in this room."

"It is! It are advanced mathematics!"

"No! Maggat! You go too far! There is some things that minionkind is not meant to know!"

"Yeah!" interjected a red, nervously playing with his – or possibly her, given it was wearing something which was either a skirt or a kilt – horns. "You no know con-see-kwince-es of actions! Think of what Goodness could be released if you keep on doing this kind of dangerous stuff! Blues, they can bring you back from deadness, but your thinkyness! It could go mad and blues not be able to fix stuff in head."

"Unless stuff in head like… arrow, or axe or stuff like that," a brown contributed helpfully. "Blueys get lotsa loot from stuff left in heads of dead minions."

"That true, yeah. But thinkyness in thinky head is not something blue can pull out before doing blue magic-yness. It like… like pary-site, only one you can't pull out and roast and eat!"

"Shut it! You just jealous of my knowingness!" Maggat snapped "I show you right now! There is…" he paused, and began to focus on the skeletal hands, flicking their fingers as his darting eyes flickered over the room, tongue sticking out in the agony of hypercognition, "… there is one hand-hand. And three hand. And four minions in this room! No! Because I is a minion, so that make one hand-hand and four hand total!"

"I not listen to filth like this! You is playing with stuff you is not under-standing!"

"But do you know that he no know, no? How can that be? If you know that he no know then you know the knowingness he no know and that mean you know it – and then you is no proper bad because that mean you are a hippo-crit – but if you no know what he might know then you no know what he no know or know and so your knowingness do not let you know if he no know the knowingness because you no know if he know to know the knowing that no should be known," contributed Maxy. "Ow ow ow," he added, as rocks were thrown at him. "Argh!" he concluded as Fettid stabbed him through the hand. "That was dis-prop-or-shunate!"

"But I no prop up anything," Fettid said, her eyes gleaming with innocence, or more likely stupidity. "I can has my knifey back? It is stuck in your handie."

"You know what is Maggat's rules! I is only allowed to be stabbed when I is actually playing music and doing poetry at the same time!"

"Yeah, that was silly thing to do," Maggat said half-heartedly, his mind still struggling to come to terms with the world-changing discovery he had just made. "Fettid, take the knifey back and throw rocks at Maxy like the rest of us do."

"Ow!"

* * *

…

* * *

The minion hive was a cantankerous blossom of dark malevolence. From within the incident horror of its protean vicissitudes, the ultimate evil lurked, waiting to…

"Kill me!"

Louise stared at the horrifically malformed minion with a disgusted look on her face. Minions were usually no lookers, generally looking like they had been pushed off the ugly mountain and hit every ugly tree on the way down before landing in the ugly swamp – which explained the smell – but this… thing which had just crawled out of the minion hive made the minions look like society beauties.

One of its eyeballs was hanging out on a cord. The left arm had apparently stolen all the muscles from the shrivelled right arm. And its skin was a tie-die mix of the other minions, which made it look like something had been sick on it.

"Kill me!"

"Well, that's another unsuccessful attempt, my lady," Gnarl said, casually. "At least you're helping us repopulate the menagerie." Another two minions grabbed the malformed monstrosity and dragged it off with a pleading "Kill me!"

Louise slumped down on her workdesk, grumpy resignation starting to set in. "Maybe that was just too much fire essence this time," she said, pouting. "It had horns, at least. At least I'll get better."

"Oh, usually most overlords get it down straight away," her vizier said heartlessly.

"Sh-shut up! Stupid Gnarl! I… I'm just not used to it yet! And I bet the vampire broke it with… he tainted it with death magic or something so it has to work it out of its system! It's not my fault!" Louise frowned. "Maybe next time, we reduce the gestation time, but use half as much earth-aspected life force," she suggested.

"I am sure it will be instructional," Gnarl said neutrally.

The Louiseian explosion which would have shortly followed from her growing temper, however, was averted by Cattleya poking her head in. "Louise?"

"What is it, Catt?" Louise asked gratefully, glad to have something to distract her from her continual failures to get the minion hive working properly. It was so aggravating! It was like she was back to her old frustrations of not-properly-working magic, after almost a year of successes! Evil magic had just been so… so easy for her! She had picked up entire tomes in days, mastering all sorts of fun things to do with fire – her main limit had been her source of new material. And now this!

She was very much inclined to go find the Jester and kick him a few times. If she went near him, he'd probably insult her, so it wasn't even as if it was premeditated.

"Oh! Louise! You're looking nice today," Cattleya said admiringly. "It's nice to see you not wearing plate, and that brings out your better side wonderfully."

Flattered, the girl smoothed down the front of her black dress. It was a very nice dress, she had to admit; high in the neck and collar – with just a hint of padding in the chest – which used its traceries of silver demonic runes to subtly suggest that she went in a little more in certain places and out rather more in others. And it was much lighter than the plate. "I felt I just wanted to get away from the clanking," she said girlishly. It wasn't like she was jealous of her sister or how now there was another woman around the place – minions didn't count – she was feeling graceless in her armour. Of course not. "Is something the matter?"

"Nope! I'm just going out to see if I can find some food, and I was wondering if you want me to pick something up while I'm out?"

Louise blinked. "Actually, yes," she said quickly, eyes darting around the room for something before she found what she was looking for. She handed it to her sister.

"… Louise, that's… uh, a sack."

"Yes. Go kidnap some goblins for me. I…" she waved a hand, "… uh, still don't have the hive down pat, and we're a little short… don't you dare make a short joke! Don't you dare!"

"… I wasn't going to."

"Sorry. Force of habit. But we need more minions, and goblins can be converted using the tower heart. There's some tribes still left in the forest to the south, where the land gets less marshy… there should also be some wild animals there for you, okay? Oh, and I was saving this for a present, but I bought an amulet from Scarron which should let you talk to me, as long as I keep wearing the Gauntlet." She handed it over, and suppressed a brief scowl of annoyance at how Cattleya effortlessly made it look elegant.

"Okay!" Cattleya said enthusiastically, bouncing over to give her sister a hug. "I'll be helpful, don't you worry! And we can get more cute little minions around the place… and it's winter, so the goblins are probably starving so really we're saving them from things."

"It is true," Gnarl nodded sagely. "Any goblin that becomes a minion is being saved."

"Exactly!" Cattleya said cheerfully. "And… and I'll see if I can find more wolves and bats out there for your legion of darkness, Louise!"

"… fine," Louise said, who rather wished her sister wouldn't call it that.

* * *

…

* * *

In the cold winter night, two goblins ran for their lives.

They were the last ones left. The last ones of their whole tribe, which had once numbered almost forty. But then the harsh winter had winnowed their ranks – made worse by an unsuccessful raid on a human village which had cost them – and now there was something stalking them. A monster. It had picked them off one by one, and now it was just them. The torches kept it away, but…

Something moved behind them.

The goblins swallowed.

From the undergrowth emerged a wolf, midnight-black fur dusted with snow. Or at least, something akin to a wolf. Most wolves were not the size of a small horse, and neither, for that matter, did most wolves have eyes which glowed a dull red, or incisors the size of a man's hand. Of course, most monstrous horse-sized red-eyed long-toothed demon-wolves did not have a coat tucked into the belt tied around their neck, but the goblins were not in a position to appreciate this departure from theme.

The demon-wolf howled, and a pack of lesser glowing-eyed wolves emerged after it, to surround the hapless goblins. For its part, the monster disappeared back into the woods, to re-emerge as a bare-footed Cattleya de la Valliere wearing a hastily thrown on coat. She showed no sign of discomfort or redness in her pale feet as they sunk into the snow.

"You are naughty, naughty little goblins," she scolded the greenish-skinned creatures trapped in the circle of her wolves. "Very naughty indeed! Why were you running away like that?"

From the night sky, bats dropped down straight at the goblins. One of them dropped their torch, which went out immediately. The wolves closed in, and the two creatures desperately pulled in closer and closer.

The last torch was extinguished by a snowball which would better be described with adjectives intended to describe gunshots. And then it was all over bar the concussing and the stuffing into sacks.

"Good puppies!" Cattleya said delightedly. "You're so well behaved! You trapped them and their nasty, nasty torches perfectly! I will have to get you a treat before we get home. Because you deserve it because you're so, so good!" Kneeling, she wrapped her arms around the head of the largest black-furred sharp-fanged red-eyed monster, and rubbed her cheek against its coarse fur. "Hunting is so much fun! And…"

The wolf, which was tolerating her exuberance, shrunk back and whined. The others in the pack retreated too, pulling back into the woods. Cattleya slowly rose, nostrils flaring as she sniffed at the air – old blood, wet animal, something sweet she couldn't identify – and her hands twisted into talons.

And then untwisted themselves as she saw what had entered the glade.

The unicorn seemed almost spectral, barely real. In the snowy light, the hide of the beautiful beast looked almost purple-tinted. Its hooves barely left prints on the snow, and it somehow managed to gallop through the frozen plantlife without disturbing it.

"Oh!" Cattleya said, weakly, breaking into a fanged smile of wonder. "Oh my! You're gorgeous! You really are. If I had any apples with me, I'd give you one!" She had always loved horses and riding before she had become one of the living dead, and the way she hadn't been able to do it in years had been a real blow. It'd been ten years since she'd been near a horse, and this was a unicorn and it was _beautiful_.

It seemed to hear her, because it paused, and cocked its head, looking at her with one eye and then the other. One forehoof pawed at the ground, and it lowered its head innocently.

"Do you want to be stroked? Oh? Are you cold?

* * *

…

* * *

"Where the lights? Why we all standing around in the dark?"

Louise glared at her newest construct. It did not glare back, because it had no eyes. It seemed to be part of a theme, because her last one had had no eyes. It had done something that she could only assume was screaming, in the short period before it asphyxiated. She'd settle for one with no ears next, thank you very much.

"Kill me!"

"Who say that?"

"Minions!" she hollered. "Take the failures away!"

What was going wrong? What proportions was she mucking up? Yes, it was – as Gnarl told her – not a 'true' minion hive, but it shouldn't be going this wrong! Which meant it had to be all the fault of her doubly deceased ancestor and the fact that, by all accounts, he had been linked up to it for generations. Stomping over where she was keeping her notes, she scribbled 'No eyes' next to 'Try #19'.

She was in such a mood that she even managed to get somewhat annoyed at how she wasn't wearing her armoured boots. They were better shoes for stomping in.

So. Try #20. She flicked through one of the black tomes that Gnarl had found for her. A lack of eyes in one's minions was often a sign of too much earth-aligned lifeforce, because it made them have something of the nature of rock about them, blind and unfeeling and tough. So if she reduced the earth, and slightly increased all three of the others… hmm. Maybe she should just increase the wind-aligned lifeforce.

Her musings were interrupted by her gauntlet chiming. "What is it, Catt?" Louise sighed.

Cattleya coughed. "_Well_," she began, promisingly. "_Uh. Louise, I just got impaled by a unicorn. And now I'm up a tree. And… and it's using its magic to throw rocks at me. But don't worry! I don't need most of my organs so everything's fine! I'll just need to find some blood to repair my…_" there was a pause, "_… uh, yes, I think that's mostly intestine! And my skin too, of course! And… ow! Dratted thing! Stop it with the rocks!_"

Louise looked up from her journal for a moment, and stared blankly at the wall. Several questions insistently tried to raise themselves to her attention, though the resignation with which they did so was probably a sign that she was getting too accustomed to the strangeness of this Overlady business. After a short pause, her brain restarted. "Well… well kill it then, Catt!" she said. "It's a blasted unicorn, it's trying to kill you, that makes it self-defence! And it's a horse and horses are evil… well, they try to attack me when I've done nothing to hurt them! You… yes, you can call wolves, right? Have them attack it."

"_I did! You know, to scare it off. It killed them too! The horn is really sharp!_"

"Then turn into a bat and fly away," Louise said. "I don't want you getting hurt or killed, Catt." She paused. "More hurt. Or… uh, more killed."

"_But I got you some goblins and they're down on the ground and… that's horrible! It… it's trampling them! Deliberately! That's… that's really mean!_"

"Just turn into a bat and fly away," Louise repeated.

"_It's not even doing it to kill them! It's… it's breaking their legs, one by one! It… my goodness, I feel sick! What was… yes! Yes, I will go fly away and leave that wicked, sinful horrible mean unicorn alone! And try to find you some more goblins!_"

Louise returned to her unproductive work. She was up to Try #22, waiting while it incubated in the hive, when Cattleya called again. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying not to let her frustration sound in her voice.

"Mmm?" she said.

"_Louise. It's following me! I… somehow it followed me when I was a bat! It's much faster than a horse! And I don't have my sword with me because I can't carry it around when I'm a wolf, and I left my coat up in the tree! And now I'm up another tree and it's still throwing rocks at me!_"

Louise pursed her lips. "Have you tried… you know, killing it?" she suggested to her sister. The minion hive hissed a venting of steam, as the incubation period finished. From the clouded depths, covered in ichor, came forth a monster, a terror, a…

"Kill me!"

The overlady gagged at the sight of the… the abomination she had just made. Organs were meant to be on the inside. So were brains.

"How interesting," Gnarl said. "I didn't know minions could live through _that_. I'll have to remember it."

"_… no,_" Cattleya said, unaware of the full depths of her sister's ventures into unethical manufacture of goblinoids. "_Louise! How can you say that? It's a unicorn! It's a creature of mythical beauty and purity and… stop throwing rocks at me! It's probably just angry because… you know, I'm a vampire! Well, that and the fact that someone seems to have branded it on the flank, which I bet would make anything furious. And… oh dear, what's it doing with its horn? It's all glowing and…_" Cattleya screamed, her voice shrill over the sound of breaking wood.

"What is it, Catt?"

"Kill me! Kill me!"

"Shut up, you! Catt, talk to me!"

"_You sugar-headed fat-head!_" her sister shrieked. "_That is it! I was being nice and you… you attacked me for no dratted reason! That was my hand! And an innocent tree!_"

There was a bestial snarl and a high-pitched cackling, a tearing of flesh, and then a sound much like a milkshake being drunk through a straw. It went on for quite some time.

"Your sister seems to be enjoying herself," Gnarl observed.

"Kill me!"

"_Uh… little sis? Sorry? It wasn't my fault I… uh, had a little loss of control! But it's still alive! There's much more blood in a unicorn than can fit in my tummy, so I'm going to take it back and help its legs get better… well, I mean, it still has two, right? So can you make a room for me to keep it in while I help it get better, okay?_"

"Kill meeeeee!"

Louise snapped. With the constant frustrations of the day, with the way she was making mutilated minions, with the way she was sure Gnarl was snickering at her and for how Cattleya was being so Cattleya. Face scarlet, she levelled the Gauntlet at the mutilated minion. Yes, it wasn't necessarily its fault for being a horrific freak of nature, but… drat it, it was asking for it! Literally! She wasn't even sure what spell she was trying to cast, but what resulted was an explosion.

And what was standing when the smoke had cleared was not the pile of twisted flesh which had gone in. It was a minion, but… statuesque, albeit the kind of statues which were worshipped by cults which were banned in all civilised states. Oily black skin gleamed over a wiry structure, phosphorescent eyes burning above a fanged maw. Its left hand was overly large, and green runes burned brightly like a mad constellation upon the night's sky.

"Your evilness," it hissed, in a rasp. "What is your bidding? What would you have me kill?"

"Oh my," Gnarl said, stroking his goatee. "Oh my."

"… what. Is that?" said Louise slowly. "And why did it show up when I miscast… I mean, tried to blow it up?"

"Well, well, well. I haven't seen one of _those _in such a very long time that I was a mere scrap of a minion, putting turnips on my head. You must have fed it raw Evil for that to happen. Very impressive… very impressive indeed. Do you wish to laugh maniacally, or rant about how other people thought you were fools and you will show them all?" he enquired.

Louise blinked. "You think I should?" she asked.

"Oh yes. That is a masterful accomplishment." Gnarl shuffled his feet. "And it is traditional to do something of the sort, your evilness," he added.

"I am the pinnacle of minionkind, superior to these inferior _primitives_," the new minion observed, sneering at the awed lesser minions around it. "Pray, give me orders. I long to fulfil them."

The girl swallowed. She didn't like the way the… the new minion was looking at her. "Ahem. Ah ha," she said. "Ah ha. Ha ha ha ha ha ha…"

"Blort," said the new minion. Well, it didn't as much 'say' it as 'make the noise'. And it didn't so much 'make' the noise as 'detonate explosively, spraying black blood, bile and… other substances all over the place, but mostly over Louise'.

Louise stared in blank shock.

"Hmm. Well, that was unexpected," Gnarl said, stepping out from behind his master. Apparently, the aged goblin could move remarkably quickly when it was called for. He hadn't even been splattered.

Louise pawed at her eyes, trying to clear them of ichor. It burned. And at the same time, she tried to throw up, because she had had her mouth open at the moment of blort-ness.

"Probably an instability in the mix of the magic and the lifeforce," Gnarl said casually. "Or possibly you're simply not powerful enough to sustain it. Oh well. That's something to remember for next time."

Louise chose to retch instead.

"But still! Very promising!"

Her Gauntlet chimed again. But it was not Cattleya.

"_Louise! Your evilness!_" came the unmistakeable voice of Jessica. "_I need to talk to you! Like… right now! Right right right right now! It's super important! It's in fact the most important thing in the history of demonity ever! Ever! I'm heading right over! This is vital-life-or-death stuff!_"

"I need a bath," Louise managed, her voice quivering, on the edge of tears. "I really need a bath."

"Cool! See you in ten!"

Louise blinked, trying to clear out her watering eyes. She couldn't meet Jessica like this. She just couldn't. But she couldn't put it off if it was as important as the other girl said it was.

There was only one thing she could do.

"Gnarl," she said, trying not to cry. "I… I am going to the baths. Have… have Jessica meet me there. I… I need to get clean."

It wasn't like Jessica would see anything she hadn't before. She was her tailor, after all, and had helped fit her undergarments. And that made it acceptable, as long as she kept everything strictly professional. Maybe… maybe she should even wear her dress in the bath, to try to get it clean too, but she hated to think what Jessica would say to the thought of the fabric being treated like that.

"Excellent, your evilness!" Gnarl said happily. "Entertaining guests while in the bath is something that many previous masters and mistresses have done. Do you wish for various oils and scented unguents to be brought up for later?"

Louise barely resisted the urge to kick the leering goblinoid, and for once wished that her Jester was present to take her anger out on. "No!" she said, trying to sound haughty and instead sounding desperate and nauseous. "Just… the stuff which makes lots of bubbles in the water. Lots and lots of it. And towels. And… and just make it so!"

* * *

…


	23. Part 5-2

"_That idea was stupid. In fact, no, it was more than stupid. It was so unutterably stupid that I, as a well-bred lady, cannot describe the depths of its idiocy without using words which I should not even know, let alone say. I certainly would not imply that the only way that you could say something like that is that your father was, in fact, the village idiot, and so was your maternal grandfather. I'm talking about the same commoner there, incidentally. And that you, too, like to roll around in the mud like some degenerate pig, engaging in carnal activity with the peasantry. Of course, I would not dare to imply it, because it would be rude. Oh, if you think I've insulted your honour – which is worth about that of the dung you roll around in every day – all you have to do is challenge me to a duel, which I as a brave Tristainian maiden would be forced to reluctantly accept. Or are you too chicken?_"

– Eleanore de la Vallière 

* * *

…

* * *

"God and Founder, why did this have to happen now? Why, why, why? This is…" a clatter of bottles, "ooops! Well, it's just as well the lid stayed on and… argh! Need to wash quickly, quickly, come on water! Come on! Come on! Why won't you…"

There was a splash. And then a scream.

The two minions standing by the door stared in mild curiosity as something began to seep through the grand doorway to the bathhouse.

The strangeness did not quite resemble frogspawn, nor did it resemble the frothing of a rabid dog, nor the horrors which come from the dark malevolence of an insane alchemist, though it drew inspiration from all three and more. One of the browns bent over, and gathered up some of the effervescing aerosol on a finger. And then licked it.

"Bleargh!" it said. "That horrible! I no know what overlady do in there, but I not want to know."

"Oh no," said the other one, "I no think that it can be that bad." It picked at the foam. "I right!" the minion crowed. "It not that bad!" There was a pause. "It much, much worse! I think I go be sick now," he said, and promptly was, into one of the ornate vases by the entrance to the bathroom.

"It taste of… of sugar and spiceys and all things niceys," the minion said, as it recovered.

"Told you so," said the first one. "What I thinks is, I thinks that…" and then it was silent, because it noticed that there were two figures which radiated dark energy in front of it.

* * *

…

* * *

There were bubbles.

There were bubbles _everywhere_. Overflowing out of the bath, filling the air, covering her body and in her mouth. Louise spat out the latter party, and gasped for breath. In retrospect, she considered, as she groped blindly through the mess, she should probably have not used an entire bottle of alchemical bath foam.

She should also probably have not dropped the other bottle in when she slipped over.

"Overlady," she heard one of the minions call out, voice muffled by the bubbles which surrounded and encompassed her, "you got guesties! The oversister and a demon are here to see you!"

"Hey Louise!" Cattleya called out. "Are you decent? Well, I mean, decent in the dressed sense, not in the whole 'trying to be a force of Evil' and stuff like that. But still?"

"Louise!" a devilishly attractive man interrupted. "Guess what guess what guess what guess what!"

Louise swooned at the sound of the voice, sagging down through the bubbles. Her knees suddenly felt like very warm jelly. She used her new position on the ground to headbutt the floor, and felt somewhat better able to think. "What, Jessica?" she forced out. "And no, Catt, I… I think… I think we can talk through the door."

"Oh, that's a really, really good idea," the m… Jessica said. "You would not _believe _how much trouble I had getting here. You want to know why my top is ripped? Yeah, I made the mistake of walking into the main room of the bar and… trust me, it's a good thing Dad was there, because most of the women and some of the men in there got out of control. Well, okay, they started chasing me. And I had to grab an axe. It's just I've never been so so so excited!"

The overlady realised she had been drooling when she got bubbles in her mouth. She spat them out and tried to focus. "C-can you take a d-deep breath and calm down?" she asked. "Or write… um, a note and put it under the d-door?"

"Try getting angry, Louise!" Cattleya contributed. "You're adorable when you get angry!"

"That's not at all helpful, Catt!" Louise blazed. "Just because you're not affected by it because of… uh, your condition doesn't mean you get away with being unhelpful when it's really hard to think! Jessica, say it quickly, and then we can talk when you're calmer!"

"Okay, okay!" Jessica said. "We're both up for Cabal Awards! I'm up for Best Outfit, and you're up for… get this straight… you're up for both Best Newcomer and Best Halkeginian Villain! I've been reading the journals and they're really, really impressed by your attack on the de la Vallière estate _and _how you killed the comte de Mott! They say you've got a real chance for both of them… you're not the favourite for either, but you could do really well!"

"… this was your most important thing ever?" Louise said in disbelief. The bubbles were clearing, somewhat. Which was to say, when hugging a pillar she stood back up, she could see something above the level of the bubbles. Wading, relying on touch, she managed to clamber up onto one of the ornamental plinths and thanked the fact that she hadn't been able to afford the statue she had been planning to put there.

"It is! It's so, so important! It's the biggest day of my life ever ever ever!" Jessica squealed. She took a deep breath. "Oh my dark gods, this is such a big thing! We're going to need new dresses and we're going to be in front of all the journals so I'm going to have to make something as fancy and amazing looking for you as I possibly can because this is like… free advertising and this is the perfect way to expand on the range of the new aesthetic of ferrous feminine chic and go against the anthrognostic paradigm prevalent in the male-gaze orientated designs so common and so show my damn succubus cousins that they aren't the be-all-and-end-all of female fashion and we can raise your profile and…" there was a thud.

"She collapsed!" Cattleya said. "She wasn't breathing, and then I remembered that people need to do that and they can't talk and talk like I can… well, I mean, I need air to do the talking, but not in the same way that living people do."

"I'm all right!" Jessica called out. "I… I think I'll just stay down here for a moment, because I'm a little woozy and also so excited that… well, my feet have turned into hooves and they're sort of a pain to balance on."

Louise slapped herself on the side of the head, because Jessica was starting to sound handsome again, and in a horrified voice asked, "Your feet became hooves?"

"Oh, you know how it is," Jessica said.

"I really don't," said Louise.

"Oh, you know. When I get really, really excited, my demonic side comes to the fore. It's an incubus. Which is male. Most decidedly male. Take my word for it, because I _really _don't want to come in here and show you. Although I could draw you a picture and push it under the door, if you really insist. Do you have a razor, by the way? I'll need to shave my goatee."

Louise's eyes widened. "That's quite alright!" she said as quickly as she could, and then mentally kicked herself. No, wait, didn't she want the devilishly handsome man to come in here and ravish her and… wait a moment. Drat it! It was a tricksy thing, that aura. She would have to be on her guard. "I think you should go find a room to calm down in," Louise said, "because I can't think clearly at the moment. And I need to get dressed."

"Yes, please do," Jessica begged. "I've had enough naked women throw themselves at me today, thank you very much."

"I'll find a room for her," Cattelya said. "Be back in a mo!"

There was a pause. "Also," Jessica added hesitantly. "Uh… your sister? Who just sprinted off?"

"What about her?" Louise said.

"You… uh, do know she's a… well, a vamp, right? You know? With the way she acts and all that? Especially around me?"

Louise rolled her eyes and sighed. And then she spat out a mouthful of foam which had snuck in with her sigh. "I had sort of worked that out, yes," she said. "It was probably the blood drinking which was the clue. Or maybe the fangs. Or the room temperature body." Well, it was the blood drinking, and it had taken her ten years to realise, Louise admitted to herself, but Jessica didn't need to hear that. "Don't worry; I'll tell her that I'll be so angry with her if she tries to drink your blood. Not that she's likely to try, anyway – she tries her very hardest to not be a monster."

There was a long pause. "Yeah, sure," Jessica said. "Just wanted to make sure you knew."

The overlady considered saying 'How stupid would you have to be to miss that?', but decided not to because it was all too likely that Cattleya would end up saying something like 'Louise only found out a week or so ago' and then it would be really embarrassing. So instead she said, "Okay. Well, I'm just in the bath at the moment because I had a rather messy alchemical accident, so…" she paused. Yes, she might as well get two birds with one stone here. "I actually wanted to commission something from you, for Silver Pentecost for Cattleya," she said. "She needs something to wear for… you know, armour and the like, but it _needs _to cover her face."

Jessica sounded cheerful when she said, "I can do that!"

"And the rest of her body. That's important too," Louise added.

"Oh, it's going to be fine! Trust me on this! Actually, I'll be showing what I already prepared as an idea for you to wear to the Cabal Awards! Trust me, you're going to love it!"

"How much flesh is exposed?" Louise asked warily.

"Trust me," Jessica said.

Louise did not feel particularly inclined to do so. No one who used the words 'Trust me' that much was trustworthy. But as it stood, she couldn't even find the exit, let alone her clothes, so she really couldn't do much to stop her.

* * *

…

* * *

Jessica's eyebrows fluted upwards at the sight of Cattleya's bedroom, and then she shook her head. "This is not what I expected from a vampire's bedroom," she said, warily. "I'd have thought there would be more… like, skulls and coffins and the like."

Cattleya took a seat on the bed, smoothing down her skirts. "Oh, that's a bit… gauche," she said. "And rather depressing, I would say! I mean, everyone knows what's inside someone's head underneath the flesh and meat and things like that but I don't think it's really in good taste to show it off like that!" She patted the bed next to her.

The hooved, horned, goateed Jessica chose to sit down on one of the plush chairs instead, crossing her legs in front of her. She was wearing strange trousers, almost like a man's, but covered in pockets, and a seemingly-buttonless black shirt, short in the sleeves, with mystical writing in some demonic tongue on it. The oddness of her garb was only added to by the way that she had apparently a longer-sleeved shirt in a dull red on under her outer shirt – ah, it was a surcoat, Cattleya supposed.

Jessica winced and rubbed her hooves, which were midway between that state and feet. "Okay, I think I'm calming down a bit," she said, "and ow, ow, it always aches like hell when they turn back."

"Oh, I quite understand," Cattleya said. "Turning back from a bat leaves me feeling all dizzy. And that's not a state it's helpful to be in when I'm trying put some clothes on."

"All right," Jessica said, steepling her fingers and staring at Cattleya, "let's talk clothes! So, actually, your sister wants me to make a set of armour slash sinister deeds of evil costume, but I'm going to start with what you'll be wearing to the Cabal Awards. Which is a chance for me to show off what I can do, and get my work on the journals. And," she looked Cattleya up and down, "… well, you certainly give me more to work with than Louise, poor girl."

"Yay!" Cattleya said happily. "So… what are you thinking? The face has to be covered, you know."

"Yes, your sister was clear about that," Jessica said, stroking her goatee. "I need a shave. But… hmm." She lowered her voice. "How do you feel about, you know… low cut dresses?"

"Oh, I'm a big fan of them," the other girl said, flashing a hint of fang. "I… I wanted to be presented at court, you know, but… well, that was never an option for me."

"Hmm," Jessica said, producing paper and a pencil from her many pockets. "So… something regal, perhaps. Maybe… I think it really has to… no, your sister would probably throw lightning bolts at me if I tried to do that one. Shame." She scrumpled it up, and threw it away. "Okay. Right. Basic principles. Style, sleek, predatory."

"I'd quite like to be able to run in it," Cattelya contributed. "Or… well. Um, it's more that things which tie my legs up get torn because I am rather strong and so if I can't move properly fabric just tears."

"So noted." Jessica sketched away. "Maybe a flared bit at the bottom. With… yes, concentric hoops to support it. Black, I think. Hmm. No, Black won't stand out, too many people wear black to these things. Maybe… yes. Layered greys. Traceries of… silver. No, maybe… yes! Steel, instead. High collar, trimmed in violet. In fact, maybe… no, all violet won't work with your hair colour! You're just as hard to work with there as Louise!"

"I'm sorry," Cattleya said humbly, biting her lip. She went to her bedside table, and pulled out her own sketchbook. "Would any of these help?" she asked.

Jessica's eyes lit up with a non-metaphorical inner fire. "Oh, I like!" she said. "They're watercolours, but… you have an eye for the flow of fabric! Who taught you?"

"Oh, our parents were very insistent we know how to draw and paint like proper young ladies," Cattleya said. "We had tutors. Well, I had tutors. Louise's one quit because… she's not very artistic. And also because she sort of blew up quite a bit of the orchard to try to avoid having to draw a tree."

"That one?" Jessica said, jabbing her finger at the watercolour of a woman in a black and silver robe trailing gauzy veils. "That's a perfect starting point. Certain elements from the Mystic East which is totally in this year, but you've clearly mixed it with the court fashions of Tristain… it's an interesting synthesis of thematic which subjugates the mysticism of other lands to the current neo-revivalism properties of modern regal styles!"

"I drew it because I thought it was pretty," Cattleya said brightly.

"Well… mind if I keep this for working materials?" Jessica asked. "Right. Well, the next thing we have to do is work on your mainstay clothes for dark and sinister activities."

Cattleya flopped back onto her bed. "I suppose… black? And a mask."

"No no no no! No! That's… honestly, that's so trite!" Jessica said, her voice rising. "You're a vampire! A queen of the night! The hunger that walks! The damned and screaming virgin, a walking metaphor of violation of the boundaries between right and wrong, life and death, and other such things!"

"Um," Cattleya said, raising a hand. "I think that's sort of hurtful to put it like…"

"You can't just walk around in a black dress and a mask! I'd lose all the respect I got for Louise's gorgeous new aesthetic if I let you do that!" Jessica snapped her fingers. "It's all about the story," she said, firmly. "Design-as-arete, design as excellence is fundamentally better in every way to designing things for mere functionality!" She sighted down her finger at Cattleya. "We want to be getting away from the Coptine elements in vampiric fashion; for one, you simply don't have the skin tone for it. It assumes a certain level of tan, which just means that too many among the living dead end up painting themselves orange." The dark-haired girl shuddered. "We certainly don't want that. And the whole asp theme? It's had its day! We need a revision!"

"Wolves?" Cattleya suggested. "I do like my puppies… oh, no, but it would be cruel to kill them and skin them. Maybe if one of them died of old age…"

"No, no, no." Jessica's tone was adamant. "You don't want be a vampire caught wearing wolf-fur. You'll get the protesters right over you, and they can turn into three metre tall wolf-men with a hair-trigger temper. Not worth it." She framed Cattleya with her thumbs and index fingers. "You have very much an hourglass noblewoman's build," she said, clinically, "so it's going to be completely different designing for you than it is for Louise."

"Hey!" the sinister sister of the overlady of dark malevolence protested, pouting.

"Look, I've done your sister's measurements and fitted her armour. I know these things. Louise needs things which enhances her figure and… well, makes her look like less of a sixteen year old girl and more of a figure of dark and dreadful feminine majesty. Cattleya, you're going to need something which simultaneously overtly conceals and subtly flaunts your curves. You're too curvy for the obvious choices to hang properly, your hips are going to make it a nightmare to get a close-fitting dress working, and if we're to reject the Coptine style… hmm. Are you sure you don't have any succubus in you? Maybe it's a vampire thing. I'm going to need sketches! And measurements!"

…

Perched on her plinth above the sea of bubbles, Louise glared at the morass which surrounded her island of tranquillity.

They weren't going away.

She frowned at them. It had no effect. Well, she could call for the minions, but as it stood, she had no clothes apart from the gauntlet and… no, she wasn't calling for the minions. Oh, and bubbles probably counted as water so she suspected strongly that they would drown in it. Even if it took them some thought to work out _how _to do it, they would manage it.

Well, she was just going to have to wait here until the bubbles went down.

Or… she could set them on fire. Or even better, _explode _the bubbles out of the way…

* * *

…

* * *

Things were not going well in the debate over vampiric fashion.

"Look, I am certainly not going to go outside the palette malificarum," Jessica said, firmly. "If you want something with all those bright colours on them, then you're going to have to go as an evil clown. Evil clowns are the only people who are allowed to mix such things together. Do you want to be an evil clown? Do you think that would be funny?"

"No," Cattleya conceded. "I think clowns are scary."

"Good, then don't try to get me to work such colours into things." Jessica took a deep breath. "That having been said – and don't try to talk me out of it when I say what I'm about to say – your complexion and hair is better suited for washed out colours. Hmm. Something ophelian? A drowned woman, betrayed by her lover, returned from beyond the grave… eternally hungry and bitter? Oh, I like that. That suggests an uxorian theme, which has the advantage of history while having been out of style long enough that it isn't passé to use it. Oh, that's very nice indeed."

Cattleya perked up. "I am single, you know," she said. "My parents broke off my marriage when this happened to me."

"Excellent! It weaves in hints of the truth! Everyone loves a good vampire tragedy! So…" Jessica's shadow flowed around her, pooling and hanging off her hands. Then she paused. "Oh shit!" she said, shifting uncomfortably and her hands going to the back of her neck. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Uh… what's the matter?" Cattleya asked, concern flashing over her face. "And… um, do you have to sw…"

"… my wings have got caught up in my breastband," the dark-haired girl admitted. "I just tried to unfold them so I could do demonic magic more easily and and…" she bit her lip, as she tried to adjust the back of her strange shirt, "… okay, got it," she said, the stubby bat-like shadowy wings unfolding from the slits in the back. "They're at a bloody inconvenient size; not big enough to support me, but still there. I thought my new design would fix that, but it's still catching! It's bloody annoying, and it's not like I'm going to use the succubus solution," she muttered. "I need the support."

"Oh, don't _talk _to me about transformation and clothes problems," Cattleya said cheerfully. "When I just go monster-y, it's fine, because that's mostly just my hands and face, but anything more than that? When I go tiny bat, owl or normal wolf, I get caught up in the dress and can't get things off because… well, no hands, and when I go giant bat or wolf, I just ruin clothes. Clothes don't track with you, and it's a pain!"

Jessica grinned. "Oh, I can solve that," she said. "That's an embuggerance for pretty much any shapeshifter, so I know a bunch of various tricks to solve it."

"You do?" Cattleya asked, happily. "Oh, that'd be wonderful! It'd mean I wouldn't have to basically take all my clothes off before transforming and I wouldn't have to get dressed afterwards!" She pouted. "According to the books, there are ways to learn how to take your clothes with you – or make clothes from blood or something like that – but I couldn't get any of them working and I didn't exactly have much room to practice back home because I sort of technically wasn't meant to be playing around with that sort of thing."

"Clothes from blood…" Jessica said, slowly. "Yes! That's it! Wonderful!" She leapt to her feet and raised her hands, her shadow rising up over her.

When the transformation was complete, it revealed a scarlet wedding dress, long and flowing and volumous. Carefully placed slits ensued ease of movement, while layers of gauzy crimson fabric meant that any flesh could only be seen as through a sanguine mist. The carefully designed veil left the girl's lips visible, but underneath it a skull-like ball mask concealed most of her features.

Cattleya squealed in joy, and leapt over to snatch Jessica up in hug. "It's gorgeous! And you managed to…" she sniffed, "… well, I've wanted to wear a wedding dress for a long time. My mother looks so pretty in her wedding painting! You can barely see that she's pregnant at all! And the red looks delicious!"

"… Karin of the Heavy Wind, already… never mind," Jessica said, interested despite herself. "And please let go, I need to breath." Gratefully, she took a breath, and then groaned. "Ah, but there's a problem with that kind of red," Jessica said, her face falling. "I'd love to use it, I really would. It's _gorgeous_. But it requires strange and hard to find alchemical reagents to make."

"Oh," Cattleya said, sadly. "But it's so pretty."

"I know! I really like it; my favourite t-shirt is that colour. I got that one from that trip Dad took me to Los Diablos. That's where we'll have to be going to get to Cabal Awards, because they're in Profaneglade."

"You have a shirt just for wearing when you drink tea? That's a really good idea! Well, I mean, I already sort of have one, but it's for blood, not tea, and that's because it's a pain to get blood of out things! But you should suggest it to Louise, who's always been a bit clumsy!"

Jessica blinked heavily, went to say something, and chose not to. "Man, I always keep on forgetting how strange surface culture can be," she said to herself. "But yeah, we have a problem. I really don't think we can get our hands on the ingredients before the deadline. I wonder if I could trick some heroes into finding it for me by sitting in the Charming Fairies wearing a dark hooded robe and talking about a super-important quest needed to stop something dreadful?" she said, mostly to herself.

"Maybe I can find it for you!" Cattelya said, enthusiastically. "After all, I am a vampire!" She smiled, and sidled closer to Jessica, who sidled away. "I'd love to get it for you," she said.

"It's a nice idea," Jessica said diplomatically, "but I don't think it would work. How can I get that much fresh unicorn blood for the dye?"

Cattleya grinned, showing rather too much fang. "I'm sure we could work something out," she said. "Trust me." And then she paused. "Louise," she said, mystified as she stared at the soot-blackened figure wrapped in a blackened towel. "Is that you?"

"Don't. Even. Ask," the dark and evil overlady of dark evilness commanded, stomping off to her room to seek out the old tub. "Minions! Clean up the bathroom! Don't drown! And put out the fires!"

* * *

…

* * *

Wrapped in midnight black fluffy dressing gown embroidered with demonic runes and skulls – there had been certain compromises in its design – Louise stalked her way to her sister's room. She adjusted the towel around her hair, and then let herself in, to find her sister and Jessica going over a thick book. On closer inspection, the book revealed itself to actually be a demonic journal, and the two were looking at pictures of clothing.

"So," asked Cattleya, raising her head, "what happened?"

She received a glowing-eyed glare in response. "I told you not to ask," Louise snapped.

"You smell of… well, it's kind of blood, but it's the worst, blandest, slightly sourest blood ever! And you also smell of Evil, explosions, and also Evil explosions. What on earth did you do?"

"Which bit about not asking didn't make sense?" Louise demanded, sulking. Even being wrapped up in her sister's cooling embrace did not remove the pout, especially when she saw the wrinkled nose. "There was an alchemical accident, all r-right! In fact, there were two of them!"

"See," Cattleya said, patting Louise's head, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Not my fault," Louise muttered. "Stupid Gnarl. And stupid bubbles."

Jessica coughed. "Much as I hate to break this up," she began.

"Have you calmed down fully?" Louise demanded of her.

"Well, mostly," Jessica admitted. "I still need to shave, but that's just something that happens. But still! I still need to do the organising stuff! Okay! Listen up! This is really, really important. Louise, you have one guest ticket, and I already assumed you'd want to give it to your sister!"

"Ahem," Gnarl said, stepping out from behind the door frame.

All three girls jumped. "How long were you there?" Louise demanded of him.

"I do believe as your loyal vizier and contact with the Abyss, I should be attending," Gnarl pointed out. "And I am an expert at mingling at these social events, and will be able to obtain many free titbits of information and also free drinks. It'll be a nice occasion to get the old suit out of the wardrobe."

Louise glared at him. He stared back calmly. He was right, curse him. He would be more useful to her than Cattleya would… and Cattleya would also be safer back at the tower, and wouldn't risk giving away her identity or anything like that.

Jessica sucked in a breath. "Well… I don't think my Dad will want to go, because he's still persona non gratis among certain circles," she admitted, "so… if he isn't going, I guess you can come as my guest if you're going to be showing off one of my designs. Don't get any funny ideas," she warned Cattleya.

"Yes," Louise agreed, "Catt, you are expressly forbidden from trying to drink Jessica's blood! I mean it!" This show of authority was slightly ruined by the squeal of 'So cute!' it produced in her sister.

"Thank you," Jessica said diplomatically. "You really aren't going to see anything of me because we have to be in Los Diablos by the start of the Silver Pentagram… I mean, Pentecost, so I'm going to basically have to be up all the time to get everything finished. But I'll meet you here, before I summon the portal there. Louise, the thing I have designed for you is basically an armoured skirt for your armour. It'll slow you down a bit, but it's more protective and it should be something impressive for the journals. And yes, you are still wearing the normal armour under it."

Louise blinked. That was… actually fairly sensible. "Okay," she said.

"Well… okay. Since hell has frozen over, you should pack something warm," Jessica continued.

"Wait," Louise said. "Hell is frozen over? Isn't that a bad... a good... a strange-things-are-happening sign? Like... is something weird going on?"

Jessica stared at Louise, eyes narrowed. "... are you being serious?" she asked.

Louise blinked. "I thought I was," she said.

"Of _course _hell is frozen over," Jessica said. "It's winter. That's how you know it's winter. It gets cold."

"... but it was all hot and smoky last time I visited the Abyss," Louise protested.

"Of course it was. That was be-cause it was what we tech-nic-ally call sum-mer," Jessica said, talking slowly as if explaining something to a slow child. "In win-ter it is cold. But still smoke-y."

"You can stop talking like that, you know," Louise snapped. "I didn't get a-any exposure to... to books on the climate of the Abyss or anything growing up, okay!"

Cattleya did. "I did!" she said. "It was in one of Father's books on preparing raids into the Abyss and the need to wrap up warm if you're going in the winter months! And also how you have to beware the blue flames which burn cold!"

"Oh yes, that's a good point," Jessica said. "Things that protect you from hotfire won't help you against coldfire. They're different. So... like, tell your red minions not to think they won't die if they go in it."

"Yessss," Cattleya said, grinning, pumping her fist. "Fire that isn't burny fire! I'm not weak against that! Ah ha ha ha ha!" She coughed, in an embarrassed manner. "I'm so dreadfully sorry," she apologised. "That was undignified. But still, do you know a way to trap it? I haven't managed to get magelights set up and so there's open fires in far, far too many places in this tower for my personal comfort! It's really scary! And I'm thinking some nice blue coldfire would set off our skin tones nicely, little sis."

"We're getting off topic, Catt," Louise said warningly.

Jessica stared at something on her wrist. "And oh my dark gods, I was meant to be meeting my supplier for demonic iron five minutes ago, I really do have to dash. Louise, it was lovely to see you again, and Cattleya, it was… interesting. See you soon! Make sure you're ready for the awards! I mean it! Really!" And with that said, she darted out.

"I will see her out," Gnarl said, following the departing half-demon and leaving the two sisters alone.

"I like her," Cattleya said. "She's cute, especially when she's not being all male-demony. And adorably manic, even if she is a little strange. But I suppose with the family background she mentioned, and how her mother left her, it's natural for her to not be normal. She doesn't have the advantage of a stable family background, like us."

Louise glanced at Cattleya. "Was that supposed to be a joke?" she asked her sister.

"I beg your pardon?"

* * *

…


	24. Part 5-3

_"Oooh, you know what them elves is up to? See, every year, right, there be a secret meetin' of elves and all sorts of other evil creatures, where they be doin' their secret plottin' and the like. And they drink lots of expensive drinkies an' eat those little bits of cheese on sticks. It was in that secret meetin' that they came up with the plan to shoot moi 'erd of 'orses with a burning ray! From space! I don't reckon to know what stuff they be doing or why they be doin' it, though. Who knows what them evil sorts get up to?"_

– Ol' Phil, uneducated horse herder

* * *

…

* * *

The portal was a malignant tumour on the very fabric of the world, sanguine colours swirling within the red-veined rock which surrounded it. Louise rubbed her hands together, making a grating metallic noise, and stamped her feet to keep warm. Beside her, Cattleya stood placidly, holding a parasol and wearing a dark hooded robe and mask. Well, Louise thought her older sister was being placid. It was somewhat hard to tell because of the aforementioned mask.

She tried to ignore the clattering sound from their baggage. She had tried her very best to avoid putting anything breakable in there, knowing that it would pass through the hands of minions, but she wasn't sure that Cattleya had listened to her warnings. And she strongly suspected that Jessica hadn't.

"Oh, ma petit," she heard Scarron's distinctive voice coming closer. There was a honking, as the dethroned prince of the incubi blew his nose. "You must promise to call me as soon as you get there so I know you are safe, and you are not to go walking around any of the dangerous areas of the city! You must promise me that!"

"Dad! You're embarrassing me in front of…"

"I don't care! I'm so proud of you getting a nomination like this! And I'll be proud of you whether you win or not! And I'm sure your mother would…" Scarron fell awkwardly silent. "Well, she'd approve of you winning things in general as long as you didn't mention what it was that you were winning. If she wasn't an unfaithful cheap Heroic hussy who enslaved me before running off and abandoning you, she would support you too!"

There was a silence. "Well, I'll call you as soon as we get to the hotel," Jessica said, a little too brightly. The girl sloped up to the waiting sister, dressed this time in some kind of strange striped black-and-white long-sleeved shirt without a collar. At least she was wearing a skirt this time, even if her boots seemed to be impractically long. "Dads, eh?" she said to them. "They fuss so much about you spending time away from home."

"Father always seemed to be quite happy about me going to the Academy," Louise said. "We all go there… well, uh, present company excluded."

"Quite. Oh, I know the feeling," said Cattleya. "Mother and Father get so antsy when I'm out of the house! Overprotective parents just don't want to let you out of their eyes."

"… yeah, sure," Jessica said, shooting a glance at Cattleya out of the corner of her eye. "Anyway," she dug around in her bag, "… here's your tickets."

Louise stared at the ancient-looking piece of black stone, carven with blasphemous occult sigils. She could feel the malevolence radiating off it. It felt sort of like a newborn kitten in her hand.

Mind you, cats had always liked her. She'd sort of hoped she would summon one. She would have been perfectly fine with a cat. It wouldn't have even needed to have fur as dark as the midnight sky; a bog-standard tabby would have been lovely enough. Alas, it was not to be. And sadly, minions were nowhere near as nice as cats when they tried to jump onto her lap while she was sitting on her chair-which-was-honestly-not-a-throne-because-to-p roclaim-herself-as-a-royal-figure-would-be-treason .

She had been forced to give the Jester such a kicking for doing that. Well, alright, she hadn't been _forced_, but she had done so anyway.

"Anyway, your minions count as hand luggage," Jessica said cheerfully, "so that's good."

"I hope I don't," Gnarl said, emerging from behind the baggage pile. "I have no intention of travelling in the interstitial vortex for this."

"It does only take seconds," Jessica pointed out, putting her bag back on, and adjusting the straps. "We ready?"

"It is the principle of the thing," the elderly minion said. "And yes. Come on, you scum-suckers," he told the minions laden down with the bags. "Hurry up."

With a series of cheers and the occasional clatter, the bags were carried through. Cattleya drew in a worried breath. "It… looks a lot like fire," she said nervously.

"Oh, it's not real fire. It's just the agonised inflammation of time and space," Jessica said.

"But does it burn?"

"Only if you're made of time and-slash-or space." Jessica tapped her feet. "Come on, we have to check in and I want to look around the stores before we have to get changed for this evening. Let's go!" And with that said, she stepped into the flaming portal.

"I don't think I can do it," Cattleya said, a hint of fang showing as she bit her lip.

"Sure you can, Catt," Louise said soothingly. "Look… I'll hold your hand. And go first. Just close your eyes and don't think too hard about it." Trying to suppress her own nervousness, the overlady stepped through, half-dragging her sister.

The first thing that hit her was the smoke. The second was the cold. Jessica clearly had not been joking when she told them to wrap up warmly. But that was a lesser thing, compared to the way that Louise was now trying to hack out her lungs. She collapsed to her knees, gasping for air, her eyes streaming. The yellow-brown fog around her stunk of tar and steel and other, worse things.

"Founder, I bet it would be horrible if I actually had to breathe!" Cattleya said. "Are you alright?"

"Do I look alright?" was what Louise tried to say, but its passage from her throat was somewhat obstructed by the coughing. Something was slid over her face, tied up at the back of her helmet, and Louise gratefully drew in a breath through the filtering fabric… no, it was some kind of paper over her mouth and nose. She turned and through her watering eyes looked up at Jessica, who had a similar black piece of paper marked with a demonic sigil on it covering her lower face.

"My wickedness, it's bad this year," Jessica said, wearing one of the paper mask things over her own face. "I mean, I know it usually gets worse in the winter months, but this is horrible." She coughed, her own eyes streaming. "I'm half-demon and it's really unpleasant for me; I can't imagine how it is for you."

"Horrible," Louise managed, pathetically grateful for the paper mask which was all which was protecting her from the all-encompassing smog.

"Ah, can you smell the Evil in the air? Positively vile! I always do like my visits to Los Diablos," Gnarl said, happily, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his robe. "I should be able to meet up with a few contacts once you get to the hotel, even before the ceremony."

"How can you stand this?" Louise asked, staring down at her advisor.

Gnarl sniffed. "Stand what?" he asked, and shrugged. "Behold! Upon yonder hills is the sign of the devils! A sign of the Evil of this place!"

In great fiery letters, a burning brand upon the stark hillside, was written,

**PROFANEGLADE**

"Pretty Evil sign, right?" said Gnarl.

Louise did have to agree, the giant burning letters written across an entire hillside overlooking the city of demons probably did qualify as an evil sign.

"I will go supervise the little dears as they load the bags into the carriage," he added, hobbling off at an impressive rate.

The overlady tried not to breathe as she looked around. All she could make out through the smog and her own watering eyes of the city itself was the impression of towering, elaborate spires rising over an interminable wasteland of squat structures. The bleating of the demonic races and the constant roar of beasts and blowing of horns was a background refrain which cut its way through even the smog. Blue fire cast mad shadows from the great braziers which lined the streets, drawing in the warmth and leaving the twisted faces she could see cast in a strange light. And everywhere, even through the chill, she could feel the heat of the malevolence of this place.

This city of demons, Los Diablos, dwarfed Bruxelles. Her parents' estate could be lost in its sprawl. The streets screamed in the cold, countless chariots and carriages pulled by all manner of monsters who drooled fire and fumes from their maws clattering over the icy surfaces. She could even hear what could only be a battle, the crackle and snap of musketfire in the distance. She felt very, very small here.

Even smaller than usual.

"I don't like this place," she said softly, mostly to herself.

Jessica patted her on the shoulder. "I know the smoke is pretty bad here," she said failing to read the emotions of someone whose only exposed flesh were the glowing eyes peeking out from over the top of the mask, "but don't worry. It gets pumped away from the rich areas, like the area around Profaneglade. You won't be choking in the ceremony. It's just really bad around the portalplace."

"That's… that's better," Louise said. She looked around again. "Why's it like this, anyway? I mean, it was smoky around the Charming Fairies, but… this is horrible."

"Well, some of the unnatural philosophers in the journals say that the smoke is making the Abyss rise, and with time it will tear through the ground, casting down the overworld and bringing about the ultimate triumph of Evil," Jessica said. "And that therefore it's our duty to burn as many souls as possible and take payment in windstones and burn them and other such things. But I don't think it's true; I mean, there's quite a controversy about that, and there are certainly unnatural philosophers who say that it's just a natural cycle based on… you know, like, volcanos and stuff, and that in time the smoke will clear and we shouldn't ruin the economy by burning lots of souls for something which won't help the cause of Evil in the long run. And I'm pretty sure there's no way we could be making all this smoke, so something else has to be playing a role, right?"

Louise stared at her. "That didn't actually answer…" she began, but was interrupted by a minion-festooned, demon-driven carriage rolling up, pulled by something black and bat-winged and horrible.

"Oh, that's nice," Cattleya said admiringly. "Really long, and… who's a good demon-horse, then? I might just have a sugar lump in my pocket for…"

"We can fuss over the demon-horses later," Louise said firmly. "For now, can we just get out of the smoke?"

"Yes, we're all going to need baths before I'll even think of letting you near the dresses!" Jessica said stridently. "Oh yes, I have a few things I meant to say. Firstly, you need to thank the Cabal if you win. Really, really, don't forget this. It's a big deal. If you don't thank them, they take it as a personal insult. And ever since the King of Abyss was overthrown and bound into my maternal grandfather, the Cabal basically runs the Abyss. Don't get them angry. Really, really, really don't. So, for more minor things…"

* * *

…

* * *

The hotel itself was a towering pinnacle of black volcanic stone, rising high above the sprawling city. The three girls each had rooms which were the very lap of decadent, demonic luxury. And then they went to bathe together and prepare themselves for the evening, which involved giggling in a state that a hypothetical voyeur – who would of course have needed to be a terrible person – may well have had some interest in observing.

However, the only giggling from Gnarl's room was Fettid's mad titter, as the minion methodically stabbed a piece of fruit. And although the elderly goblinoid's room had started off just as luxurious as the others, it had now contained multiple minions for several minutes and thus would require, at the very least, a very good airing.

And for all the fruit to be replaced and the coolbox to be refilled and the walls to be repainted.

"I was going to be eating that," Igni whined, spinning a ball of fire on his finger. "Why you gots to mush it, eh? What is you, stoopider?"

Fettid grinned. "For the noise of stabbiness. Duh."

The violence started shortly afterwards.

After a while, Gnarl released his crystal ball, and looked up to see Maggat holding the red and the green by their heads, slamming the two skulls together. It was widely agreed among minionkind that such a form of punishment was probably the mildest form of reprimand they could give. After all, the skull was the thickest bone in the minion body. Settling down in the high-backed chair by the window, the old minion stroked his goatee and stared out over the smog.

"I have made my calls," he announced, "and made a few arrangements. I therefore will need a small team to engage in a raid on a high value target."

Fettid picked herself off the lush carpet, and rubbed her head resentfully. "Oooh! Ooooh! Me!"

Gnarl stroked his goatee. "This mission," he began, "will require many things. It requires sneakiness!"

There was a cheer from the other minions.

"It will require you to risk your own double-death. It will require total loyalty to the overlady. It will require cunning and brutality in the appropriate amounts."

"We can totes do that," one of the reds chirped up.

"And it will require a basic level of literacy and the ability to write."

Some of the minions got as far as nodding their heads before the words sank in and they recoiled in horror. One or two of the younger ones actually shrieked.

"But Gnarl," breathed a wide-eyed blue, "you is never going on no raidings no more! And without you, how is the knowingness of the tricksy paper words to be known?"

There was a cough from Maxy, who was grinning like… well, like a minion. "Ha!" he crowed. "You so stoopid! You say I waste my time learning to read, but it help us because I read on how vampies are all melon-dramas and that help us save overlady, and now you need me! A ha ha ha! And because you is needing me, I no can be stabbed at all!"

"I can read too!" Scyl said dreamily. "Like the wall there! It says 'C-A-T'. Cat."

Maxy stared at the wall. So did Gnarl. "Nope. It not say anything on the wall," the brown said, glaring. "There are no letters there at all. So I cannot do the putting together of the letters when there is no letters to put together. You can't read letters what are not there, stoopid."

"I can," Scyl pointed out.

"That no is reading! That just is putting letters there and claiming that they is wordies!"

Gnarl cleared his throat. "That is good. In that case," he put one hand into a pocket, and withdrew some strange stone talismans, hanging from red ribbons. "The minions which will go on the mission must wear these. And there will need to be a preliminary pillaging. You will require suits for this, and I do believe suits intended for imps will fit you."

Fettid raised a hand.

"What is it?" Gnarl asked.

"Is dressies okay instead of suities?" the green asked.

"No," Gnarl said promptly. "That is not appropriate."

Fettid's face fell.

"For the disguises to work, you would require a maid's uniform," Gnarl continued.

The green's smile was a thing of terrible malevolence.

* * *

…

* * *

And it was now dark. Or rather, it was as dark as it ever got in the city of demons. Whatever sun this hellish realm had was no longer above the smogs and fumes, but now those aforementioned clouds caught the light of the fires of the city below and cast it back down. The red and blue of the two kinds of fire mixed in the clouds to produce a nauseating purple, which cast all features in a strange light.

Over the great stone edifice where the Cabal Awards were being held, explosions tore up the sky. Vile demonic spells were hurled with dreadful abandon at the heavens, in a show of profound decadence. Dark sorcerers competed to see who could best impress the onlookers, for to do well at this would guarantee contracts and offers of hire from the dark lords and demon princes who attended such gatherings.

"It's really a wonderful showing for the demonstrations; they've really outdone themselves this year," reported the blonde succubus standing in front of a magic mirror, speaking to the enchanted object. "Of course, the warlocks and rogue mages aren't the only ones who have outdone themselves. Yes, this is the nine hundred and seventh Cabal Awards, and I have to say, the competition is especially fierce this year. Anyone who is, was, and even some who will be anyone has turned out for this! Oh my wickedness, the outfits look gorgeous! The coaches and malevolent riding beasts are stacked as far as the eye can see, but… yes, one of the nominees is apparently nearly here!"

In a clattering of wings, a long, black-scaled serpentine dragon landed at the end of the blood-coloured carpet which led to the main structure. Armoured faceless guards helped the young man in the black robe off his dragon, and, dragon-headed steel staff in hand, he began to walk.

"Yes, it's Emperor Lee himself, and I have to say, he's looking particularly villainous for this, his first Cabal Award. He's burst onto the scene like a necromantic death spell into a helpless village, and in the last year alone murdered the old Cathayan vizier, took his place, murdered the emperor of Cathay, usurped his throne and is now leading his dragon-hordes against Ind. He's the hot favourite for no less than three separate awards, including Best Newcomer – not surprising, really – and up for five more. And I have to say, he really pulls off that robe. A classic example of Vizier-chic, but with imperial overtones which are certainly eye-grabbing. And I am loving that staff! Mmm!

"And who's up next? Oh, it's Acedia!" The succubus sniffed, taking in the grey-skinned, washed-out demoness, in a short back cocktail dress. "I have to say, she's looking distinctly tired. Critics have panned her recent efforts… she's very much been sitting back on her laurels, waiting for others to damn themselves. That's not the sort of thing which catches the eye of the Cabal, and though she's up for Best Long-Term Plan, the odds are not looking hopeful for her."

The blonde took the chance while another carriage made its way up to sip from her glass of water. One elaborately plucked eyebrow quirked at the sight of the newest arrivals; a heavily armoured figure in steel plate, a half-masked figure in black and red, a dark-haired woman in a low-cut evening gown, and a goblin in a waistcoat with long tails. The goblin also had a hat shaped slightly like an inverted mushroom.

"And they're coming close together, our new contenders!" the blonde said, a slightly malicious grin sneaking onto her face. "In any other year, we'd be lucky to see these kinds of accomplishments, but I don't envy the Cabal for having to choose. Here we have the Overlady of the North, the Steel Maiden, wearing her signature plate. Although she's added a daring new armoured skirt to the ensemble, which reinforces the paradoxical and hitherto almost unseen mix of femininity and protection. She's the dark horse in this race, and some people say she'd need a dark miracle to win when up against the competition of Emperor Lee or Shafeela, but… well, she has the Gnarl on her side, who's emerged from almost eighty years of silence as her advisor. Yes, the Steel Maiden is an outsider, but she's one to watch!

"Accompanying her is the mysterious Carmine Countess, who there have been all sorts of tales and rumours about in the past few weeks. Some say she feeds only off unicorn blood; others that she is the heir to the dark power of the Bloody Duke, Louis de la Vallière himself. No one knows who's saying that 'some say', but I know what I say and I have to say that she's wearing a gorgeous black number which seems to blend Cathayian styles with Tristainian. She could have been a little more daring, what with that figure, and I wish I could see that face, but… ooh, there's something about a woman who's wearing a mask like that which makes her a challenge."

The succubus licked her lips. "Yes, a challenge indeed. And… okay, yes, I'll move on," she said, to frantic gestures from someone standing behind the magic mirrors, a subtle sneer twisting her lips. "Oh, and there's J'eszika va S'kareryeon with them, who's behind both dresses. Looking sort of podgy there. Could probably do with losing some weight, and looking distinctly masculine. Not very attractive at all. She might be able to design passable dresses, but I have to say, it's the others who are making things work for them. Must be all the human blood in her, and not in a healthy, vampiric way."

Walking down the blood-red carpet, which squelched slightly under foot, Louise tried not to show how terrified she was that the centre of attention of hundreds of demons and other evil beings. The commentary which was coming from… somewhere, she wasn't exactly sure, wasn't helping matters either. Beside her, she could feel Jessica shaking.

"Don't be scared," she breathed, trying not to move her lips.

"I'm not scared," the other girl breathed back. "I'm angry. Really angry. The one doing the commentary… that's Izah'belya. One of my cousins. On Dad's side. I _hate _her. And am trying to stay calm. She's somehow both vapid and emptyheaded and a treacherous stoat who… she stole Monsieur Saturnine from me!"

Louise blinked. "Your boyfriend?"

"One of my dolls when I was little," Jessica muttered. "Thrice-blessed succubus cousins who take things from you because they know it'll make you upset and… have to stay calm." She took a deep breath. "Can't listen to her. Remember, wave at the audience, but keep on moving. We'll get past her and her not-very-veiled insults."

* * *

…

* * *

"Dah daran-dah dan dan dan. Dah daran-dah dan dan dan. Do do, do do, do do-oh! Do doroh do, duu-uu-oo! Dah daran-dah, d…"

"Could you shut it?" Maggat hissed at Scyl. "We is sneakin' here."

"An' this is sneakin' music," Scyl countered, calmly.

"Actually, we is not sneaking," Fettid contributed. "If we was sneakin', we would be wearin' our normal stuff an' we would be in the air carrying thingies and stayin' in the shadows and watchin' out for those demony eye thingies which are above doors and watchin' for people who is not meant to be here. We is dissing guys here."

Maxy shot an annoyed glare at Fettid. "And if we is disguised, why you cut the throat of this imp?" he said, pointing down at the blood-soaked imp corpse the five minions had dragged into one of the bathrooms.

"Because I already crush airway, but that not kill and hornys get better afterwards and then he raise the alarm," Fettid said cheerfully. "And I only crush airway because he go 'wait, you is not impies, you is… goblins! Gua… argle argle wheeze wheeze' and then there was a wet bubblin' noise because I cut throat then." The minion patted the front of her apron. "I like this thing!" she said cheerfully. "It stop blood getting on me, and it also let me hide more knifeys under it."

Maggat crossed his arms. "Okay, so maybe we is sneakin' while we hide the body, but then when we hide body, we go back to dissing guys, 'kay?" he said. "We go to some lengths to get these disguises so we is dressed up as fancy backstage butlery stuff or whatever – I is not knowing what the hornies do because they not have minions and so they is worse – and Gnarl might be…" Maggat gulped, "… shark-astic with us if we not do this proper."

"I gots a plan," Scyl said suddenly, "an' it's a doozy."

"What are a doozy?" Igni asked.

"Something what this plan is," the blue said. "Right. We is trying to get to the special room of one of the suckybuses, right? And we got a body here. So all we gots to do is prettify this body and then we can say he's all sleepy and he's there for her and it's a present from someone who wants to get kissy with her and then we can be tricksy like that."

There was silence.

"That are a very stupid plan," Maggat said, eventually. "Look, let's just go in through the air things up there. We is almost there anyway."

And indeed, within minutes, the ventilation shaft in the roof of the target room was being pried up, and the minions were dropping down into the boudoir of the succubus with cat-like stealth.

"Ooh, string!" declared Igni, grabbing a ball of cord made from the hair of bloodily sacrificed human virgins, and stuffing it into his rucksack. "This are going to be real useful for funsies, and also… uh, what else, uh, tying stuff up!"

Maxy cleared his throat. "Ahem. We no is meant to be looting here. Gnarl was very clear 'bout that. We no can loot in the room. We gotta get in and out, sneaky like." He looked around the lush room, taking in the extravagant tapestries of groups of demons, many of whom were holding things which were either torture devices, or strange and arcane musical instruments. Eventually, his eyes eyes settled on a mirror surrounded by tiny screaming glowing humanoids in jars. Carefully, he clambered up onto the chair. "And look! Here are the letters we is meant to find for Gnarl."

"That are nice and wicked," Maggat said thankfully. "I not like idea that they might be in safey or something. Okay, Maxy, do what you is needing to be done, and then we can be going. Don't try to explain it to me, because it are scary reading things. I wants us to be done in maybe three hand-hand seconds."

"Says you, who is counting things all the time," Igni grumbled. "And Maggat! Fettid is stealing things too!"

"Is not," Fettid countered, quickly stuffing the strange garment made out of loops of black string out of sight.

The minions froze as someone groaned. As one, their heads swivelled to stare at the luxurious and rather mussed bed, where an emaciated, shrivelled man was lying, wearing only a loincloth, a domino mask and the remnants of a cravat. Even if he had been strong enough to stand, the chains would have stopped him.

"Help," he managed, huskily. "Please. No more. I can't… she… too much…"

There was an awkward pause. "Oh, there is no worries," Maxy said brightly, from up on the chair. He continued to read the letters in the black envelope, tracing the characters with one finger. "We is just a figment of your imagin-a-shun. You is going crazy because you is dying," he sniffed, "from the snu-snu of the sucky-bus, and so you is seeing a bunch of things what look like goblins, but are clearly and obviously better in any way you is caring to mention."

"Oh," groaned the man. "I had thought… someone might have… release me please."

"Nope," Igni said. "Because, like Maxy said, we is just thinky stuff in your head and so we no can let you go, or Gnarl get very angry at us for leaving place not like how we finds it. Also you is looking like a Hero of some sort, and so we no can let you go because it are against the Minion code. Because… uh we is Evil nightmares of you."

"Yeah, that is makin' sense," Scyl agreed. "Because we is Evil nightmares of things which are clearly better than goblins, we is not letting you go. If we was Good nightmares, we would want to let you go, but we no want to so we don't."

There was a scratching of a pen from Maxy. "I think I is done, and I has done what Gnarl say I must do with letters which will be read out by announcy peoples," he said. "I think we is needing to go now, because suckybus will come back here to get letters."

"I hear there is once a sucky-bus who is falling for the Karin. Then she take it into room and when she come out, it go and become a nun," Scyl said dreamily.

There was silence from the minions.

"This are the Karin we is talking about. And you know how the overlady get when she angry and how kissyness make her angry," Maggat said firmly. "The Karin probably tell it, 'I catch you acting in kissy ways again, I cut your head off'. And sucky-buses need their heads. How else they do kissyness? We is also needing our heads, though, so… goodbye, Mr Chained Up Hero. We is goin' to be goin' now."

The emaciated man groaned. "Fairwell, nightmares. At least unlike the other forces of darkness who have visited me in my captivity, you have not touched me or…" he shuddered, "other things. Your presence was a relief in that way, at least."

Igni tilted his head, staring at the man on the bed. "Hey, you know what'd be real fun?" he said, slowly. "Hey, Mr Chained Up Hero, we think we can be doin' something for you, too, but you needs to be doing something for us. Speakin' as nightmares, of course."

* * *

…

* * *

From the darkness of the rafters, something gleamed. Slowly, torturously, a great flaming eye opened, joined by a second, then a third and a fourth. Burning with unholy light, they sought out what they longed for, hungered for. Across the lightless stage they cast pools of illuminated blasphemy, searching, seeking.

Something moved on the right of the stage. The burning gazes tracked them, seeking out the release which was eternally denied to them. But no! There was another stolen wonder on the other side of the stage, and the demonic horror flicked two eyes over to track them too. It would be free! It would!

Illuminated by the spotlights, the two presenters made their way onto the stage. And sitting down at one of the tables in the audience, Louise felt Jessica stiffen in anger. She took in the female one of the pair. Louise glanced to her right, and noticed that Jessica was glaring at the woman in a particularly attractive – and manly – way. She came to a conclusion. "Another cousin?" she asked. "There seem to be a lot of them."

"What are succubae famous for?" Jessica muttered. "I wonder why on earth I would have a lot of insufferable, beautiful, bitchy cousins on the demonic side?"

"Stealing the life force of their victims? But why does that mean you have a lot of cousins?" Cattleya asked, sounding rather confused.

Jessica stared at her, and shook her head. "But with Dad and my grandfather bound, my aunt's basically the queen in all but name," she said, choosing to ignore Cattleya. "She doesn't like me. Well, she doesn't like Dad. And she puts her children in all the best jobs."

"Excuse me," said the dark-haired woman who, along with her blond male companion, were sharing the table with them. The blank mask covering half her face was mutely intimidating, as was the weapon kept close at hand. "It's starting, and could you please not chatter?"

A black-dressed demon, half-bowed, made their way up to the table, and passed a note to Gnarl. The minion unfolded it, read it, and then nodded once, stuffing it into a pocket. "Your evilness," he said, "I must take my leave. I am needed for a minor technicality." He departed as drums, vast drums in unseen depths sounded.

"Welcome, welcome!" the red-haired, green eyed man standing on the stage said, his eyes dancing over the audience. "This is the nine hundred and seventh Cabal Awards, and I'm your host for this evening. I am one of the nameless lords of the expanses beyond the Abyss, from realms beyond even your comprehension. All I gaze down upon, I control." He paused. "And last time I was here, I was picking up an award for Most Handsome Demon Lord, though of course, that was eight hundred years ago."

"Ooh, oh, and I'm his co-host," said the purple-haired woman with great ram's horns. "I'm just a lucky little girl who's getting her first major break, so I hope you'll be_gentle _with me, your villainousness. And I have to say, this is a very close-fought Cabal Awards. The tension is really hotting up, which is just as well given the weather outside. From what I've heard, all the records have been broken for the bets on the winner. Certainly, this looks to be one of the most promising ones in as long as I can remember."

"Well, yes," said the man, "but you're only twenty-three."

"Technicalities, technicalities," the woman said, to laughter. "I may not have been born aeons ago in the uncounted depths of inchoate chaos, before linear time itself was hewn from the fabric of meaningless atemporality…"

"Don't put it like that," the man said, his voice deadpan. "You'll make me sound old."

The woman giggled, and Jessica growled. "I hate her so much. Hate. So much hate," the dark-haired girl muttered. "That was a terrible joke."

Cattleya nudged her. "Shhh," she said, "I'm trying to listen here."

* * *

…

* * *

"And I'd like to thank the Cabal so much for this Lifetime Achievement Award," grated the red-skinned, horned demon through its mouth of needle-like teeth. "I remember back in the bad old days… why, those knights used to scream when I sliced them up. Modern knights, who've stopped wearing all the armour and started carrying pistols… those blessed demi-lancers aren't _real _knights, like there used to be. The Dark Hermetic Empress never had to put up with those sorts and the sanctified blackpowder which is all the craze these days! And another thing! Let me tell you about what this holy new generation of overlords are doing! Why don't they use proper dungeons like…"

The full details of this 'another thing' was not heard, as the music started playing and the magical amplification to the demon's voice was cut.

"Quite shocking!" Louise distinctively heard a demon sitting at the next table along say. "Using language like that… there's going to be complaints! There are children scrying in on this! I know he's an industry veteran, but acting like this at the awards? Using sanctimonies like that? He must be drunk!"

Jessica sighed softly. "He hasn't done anything in years," she muttered to Louise, "and look at that belly. He never had that back when he was wreaking havoc on the lands of men. The journals say he has a drinking problem and fell off the chicken wagon again publically a few months ago. And that brass-and-scythe get-up? Very gauche and dated. But of course you can't say that his work is just dated where people can hear you. His fanbase is fanatical and vocal; of course he was going to get that award this year."

Louise had very little idea what Jessica was talking about, so nodded and said, "That's dreadful," so the other girl would think she understood.

Well, things were going… tediously. She had been trying to keep track of all the Evil deeds done and remember the faces of the malefactors so she could – when she could be Good again – provide useful information to the forces of righteousness, but… yeesh.

No wonder her armour had drawn so much attention in the journals of the Abyss. She'd lost track of all the identical tall, statuesque busty women who had paraded themselves in front of her on the stage. Were they printed out of some sort of mould, she wondered? Indeed, the only way to tell them apart was by their weapon, their haircut and just how little flesh their 'clothing' covered. She'd had to close her eyes at some points, because it had been so utterly indecent that she simply couldn't look. It had almost been a relief when the winner of Best Economic Domination Strategy – busty, red-headed and almost-looking a bit like a paler Kirche – had actually been wearing a dress, because that had been more fabric than the rest of the women up for that award had been wearing combined.

And the men! The men were often just as bad! Although at least they seemed to have two physiques, rather than one. Grizzled, unshaven muscular meatheads with pectoral muscles larger than her… head, or effeminate, pretty boys who… uh, reminded her of slightly older Guiche de Gramonts. The latter tended to come more from the Mystic East.

Actually, the person who had beaten her for the Best Newcomer award, Emperor Lee of Cathay… he had been fairly cute, in an exotic way. Not too tall, saturnine, and with clever eyes. And he was an emperor, too… an emperor of a barbaric, non-Brimiric nation and a traitor, usurper, and evil sorcerer admittedly, but… well, maybe she could have a dance with him after the awards were handed out, and see what he was like as a person. She even had to admit that it was probably fair enough that he had beaten her for that, and by congratulating him and saying he was the better man… or possibly the worse man, she'd need to check with Gnarl on the proper phrasing… anyway, by saying that, she'd look good – or possibly bad – in his eyes.

She was also getting rather hungry. And there was a little thought at the back of her head that at some time this night, she'd need to go to the toilet and she really wasn't looking forwards to that bit. She had a nasty premonition that her feet would be aching by the end of the night, too.

Gnarl clambered back into his seat, and cleared his throat. "I am sorry, your wickedness," he said to Louise softly, "but certain bits took longer than I expected. But everything should be arranged now."

"That's good," Louise whispered. "Uh… what 'everything'."

"Nothing very important," Gnarl said, smiling to himself. "Just a few irrelevancies which should help us in the long run. And I made sure to make it back in time for your big moment."

"My big… I lost out on the Best Newcomer," she said.

"Oh, your evilness, that was to be expected," Gnarl said calmly. "With what that Cathayan emperor has done in just one year, it would have been suspicious for you to win. There would have been questions raised about it, and the Cabal does not like having to ask such questions."

A horrible suspicion began to dawn over Louise and she glared at Gnarl from underneath her helmet. Before she could say anything, however, music began to play.

"Ladies, gentlemen, both and neither," announced the faceless, bodiless, manifest voice which had been making such statements throughout the entire evening, to present the award for Best Halkeginian Villain, "may I present Lillysuffering Crim'sondoomblood, leader of the Dark Elves (North West Halkeginian Reformed Contraorthodox branch)."

Louise detected a certain lack of enthusiasm from the onlookers. For her part, she was rather more worried about the fact that there was going to be an _elf_, on stage, possibly even giving her an award. She… really didn't know if she wanted to win or not, now. Elves were terrible, malevolent forces of wrongness opposed to the Church and mankind in every way possible! And whatever a Dark Elf was, it was probably _worse_.

… actually, thinking about it, that was probably why it would be giving out an award for evil deeds.

But the elf was not what she was expecting. Not that she exactly knew what she was expecting, but whatever it had been, it had not been… this. Every individual bit of the elf was suitably wicked. Her dress, such as it was, was black and had about as many holes in it as your average spiderweb. The spider theme continued with her earrings and other silver arachnid piercings, and the various strategically placed spidery tattoos. She wore a spikey collar, and spikey bracelets, and a single pauldron which was, yes, spiked. She had a pair of scimitars at her waist, and a whip, all of which were elaborately jewelled. And the ears which poked out of her hair were suitably pointy, in case there was doubt to the elven nature of the woman.

It was just rather let down by the girl at the centre of all these adornments, who reminded Louise rather strongly of one of her classmates, Marie de Bruxelles and who could really do with a bit more height and a diet to pull off such a dress. There probably were people who could make it suit them, but she was not one of them. And from the faint blush when she walked on stage and the occasional nervous fidget, she knew it.

Louise felt a sudden pang of sympathy, and then a wave of intense smugness that she had been confident enough to not pander to the dreadful and improper fashion sense which seemed to dominate in the Evil community. Or at least in the female parts of it.

"Oh, Lilly, Lilly, Lilly," Jessica muttered sadly, incidentally confirming Louise's beliefs, "you didn't listen to me when I said you can't wear arachnochique like that. I told you, you should have gone for something more post-Alexian sorceress, but no, you didn't listen."

"Hello!" the girl said on stage. "Before I get st-started on the awards, I'd like to spend… um… just a moment of your time to talk about the n-need to cast down civilisation and return all men and elves to living in the forests with nature! Which… um, well, it'll kill lots of people because they'll be eaten by wolves and wild cats and spiders and things like that! We're d-doing our best in the Dark Elves to do this, and we're searching for the last remnant of the elven royal line who… well, we made a pr-prophecy that when the elven kings return, who were, after all, overthrown by the Senate who said they were evil because they were making them pay taxes… well, we made a prophecy that when we find the True King… or True Queen, as the case may be, we're not sure… but when we find them, that'll certainly overthrow all the nasty Goodness of the elves!"

Jessica leant back in her chair, and folded her arms in front of her. "She's a bit… pathetic," she said, softly, "but Lilly tries so hard and you can't bring yourself to look down on her. It's a bit sad, really. I went out drinking with her once… well, rather more than once… you know elves can't hold their booze, right? Like, at all? She gets totally shitfaced after a single shot of Rusean spirits. I'm talking fucking _hammered_, here."

Louise shifted uncomfortably. "Do… do you have to swear quite so…"

"Anyway, when I was helping her into some fresh clothes because… well, she'd thrown up all over herself, she started talking about herself a bit. Her parents are big leaders in the Elven Senate, she's from one of their big rich families… the Leafblossoms or the Merryweathers or the Bushes or something like that. Then she said she realised that elven society and their cities needed to be wiped out and make them go live in forests and stuff… which sounds really pretty horrible to me, she certainly has her heart in the wrong place, so she founded a secret cell of Dark Elves to try to overthrow their government. You know, sort of like you, only you're actually able to do actual Evil things and blight the world with dark magic and kill government figures, rather than just putting up posters, planting trees and painting slogans on buildings."

Under her helmet, Louise blushed. Well… she was better at something than an elf. She just wished it was something she could admit to in polite society. Polite, non-Evil society.

"Of course, the elven government called them a blight and a bunch of long-haired evildoers who should be conscripted into the elven military so they'd learn proper elven values, and she started sobbing onto me when she talked about how they killed quite a few of her friends," Jessica continued. "I think she only barely escaped herself."

"And in the elven land, we bl-blew up the headquarters of several mining and logging companies. We even sent warnings first so they knew how they c-couldn't do a thing to stop us. All h-hail Evil! So everyone, d-do your part and c-cast down the civilisations of men and elves!" Lillysuffering Crim'sondoomblood concluded, up on stage. She looked down, and picked a black envelope. "Now onto the nominations."

There were the same drums in the depths.

"Up for Best Halkeginian Villain are… Graf Vilhelm von N-Nacht, the Count of the Night."

"Vilhelm, with the sacrifice of a hundred virgins, drew a cloud of night which poisoned the crops around Lake Valdermer in south-west Germania. He enjoys torture, beatings, and leaving unsuspecting women pregnant with his bastards and then failing to support them."

"Shafeela, the M-Marked."

"A subtle corrosive force in Albionese politics, this year has seen the plans of Evil for the Albionese monarchy come to full fruition. With the execution of the King and the Prince Wales under her belt, Shafeela is one to watch, though her failure to eliminate the Princess Hibernia before she fled to Germania will cost her in the ranking. The tendency of Heroes to emerge from cast-down bloodlines is a well-known thing."

"The Overlady of the North, the Steel M-Maiden."

"The dark horse in this race, the Steel Maiden surged to prominence this summer with the murder of one of the Council of Tristain, the Comte de Mott, and the arson of the town he was visiting at the time. And in a sudden late entry which will be sure to impress the Cabal, she broke into the de la Vallière estate, home of feared force of Good Karin de la Vallière and stole an artefact of great and ancient Evil which they had been keeping locked away."

"Don Marikos, the Masked Bandit."

"Murderer, thief and vigilante, the Masked Bandit is on a quest for revenge against widely loathed figure of Good Blizhart von Zerbst. The Iberian's flaming hair burns as hot as his fury, and his wicked fire magic has burned down entire villages to try to lure his nemesis to him. Rumours say that he is now turning his focus to eliminating the things in the world Blitzhart most cares about, starting with his shocking destruction of the man's statue in the Plaza of Heroes in Roma itself."

"And Cestiere Vie, the Revitrificatior."

"Practising a unique blend of necromancy, fire and earth magics, this Gallian low-born mage animates his custom glass golems which puppet the minds and bodies of men. At this very present time, he controls almost half of the duchy d'Aquitània without the knowledge of anyone else."

Louise blinked heavily. That… was pretty alarming news. She'd need to find a way to tell someone about that. She smiled to herself. And so evil brought about its own downfall at the hands of the righteous. Like her. She wasn't evil. She crossed her fingers and took a deep breath. Come on, come on, come on. Next to her, Cattleya squeezed one of her hands.

"And the winner of Best Halkeginian Villain is…" there was a drum roll. Louise found herself holding her breath, gripping tightly onto the arms of her chair. It's not that she wanted to win! It wasn't! She wasn't a villain at all; indeed, she was secretly working to thwart the evil, wicked Council who had so treacherously worked against Princess Henrietta! So not winning was a good sign!

She just… wanted to win. Because she had won almost nothing before in her life, and this was something massive that she apparently had a pretty good chance at.

"… Shafeela the Marked!"

Louise let her breath out explosively. Reluctantly, she joined in the applause, as a black-robed, masked – was that a woman under there? She wasn't sure – figure climbed onto the stage. She… this wasn't fair! She should have won!

"As expected. Wonderful," Gnarl said, happily, and made a little note in his book.

With glowing eyes, she glared at the figure with an inverted Brimiric pentagram on the forehead of its mask. Oh, she was going to make sure of this 'Shafeela's' downfall, be sure of it. If they were behind the murder of the Albionese royal lineage, that means they were behind the whole Civil War! Which meant that they were, at heart, behind the situation that Princess Henrietta had been put in! Which meant that it was perfectly in line with her plans to make sure that they were crushed beneath her steel-clad shoe as punishment for their actions!

After all, they had won an award for Best Halkeginian Villain, and that meant they were an irrevocably damned force of Evil, right?

Yes. Yes, it did. Smiling broadly, applauding her foe, Louise de la Vallière began to plot her revenge. In the name of righteousness for the mighty wrongs committed by this foul villain, naturally.

* * *

…


	25. Part 5-4

_"Dear diary. Possibly day 263 of my unending captivity. Still kicking myself for not keeping a diary earlier. Mother only lectured me for half an hour today through the door. She must be losing her voice. Good. Apparently my wickedness has tainted the country and so the Overlady of the North they all talk about is all my fault. The old hag's delusions know no bounds. She gave me a new book today. On manners and etiquette and obedience towards one's parents. What fun. Have started tearing out the pages and making paper birds from them. Much better use for it. Maid didn't come today. Hope she shows up tomorrow; I want to know how she got on with Henri and Jacques."_

– Henrietta de Tristain

* * *

…

* * *

Shoulders hunched over, stubby wings protruding from the back of her low-cut dress, Jessica downed her drink. "It… it doesn't really matter," she muttered, slamming the glass down onto the table. "There's always next year. Right? Right?"

"Oh, you don't want to do that," said Cattleya, who didn't have a drink. "You might break the cup, and then you'd get glass in your hand."

"But really?" Jessica continued, ignoring the vampire, "Prahdear? Of all the people? Why him? He's… he's a talentless hack! He has no flair! No style! No originality! He couldn't design his way out of a wet paper bag with a sharp pencil!" She grabbed another drink, and downed it.

"That was my drink," Louise objected.

"This sucks," the dark-haired girl muttered rebelliously. "Like, I could accept that Pyria beat me. Some of her work in blended fires is gorgeous. I'd love to be able to do what she does. But Prahdear? His things; they're bland! Conservative! I… it's not fair!" She glared at Louise. "How are you taking it so well? You lost out on two things! You don't look even upset!"

"Oh, well," Louise said, shrugging with a clanking noise. "I guess I'm just taking the defeat well. I was a little annoyed at the time, but… well, I decided to take it in a mature and sensible way, befitting of my heritage and status."

Cattleya frowned, her eyes crinkling under the mask. "That doesn't sound like you," she said suspiciously. "Are you feeling alright? Do you have a temperature? Oh! Oh! Are you overheating in the armour?"

"Thank you, C… Countess," Louise said acerbically.

"I'd think not," Jessica said, sounding offended. "I designed that to be fire resistant and comfortable."

"Anyway," Louise continued, "… no, stop it, stop trying to feel my forehead to see if I have a temperature." She fended away Cattleya's room-temperature hands, paused and restarted. "Anyway, being beaten by the Cathayan emperor was fair enough. I haven't done anything as evil as taking over a whole country." Inwardly, Louise smiled. It was perfectly true, because killing the comte de Mott hadn't been a bad deed at all! This lying-by-telling-the-truth was so useful! "In fact, I think I'll go and congratulate him in person. As I'm going to get another drink, anyway. You know, just in passing."

For someone who was drinking anything she got her hands on, Jessica was apparently still quite aware. "Yes, he was rather cute, wasn't he?" she said. "Exotic. And he looked… you know, smart and sensitive, unlike the muscle-laden meathead types around here. Plus, you know, he's an emperor. And had a really large staff. With a dragon on top."

"I… I don't know what you're talking about," Louise blustered. "And… uh, you're clearly a bit tipsy so… sister, please take care of her. And don't try to drink her blood."

"L… Lady!" Cattleya said, her hand going to her mouth in shock. "I wouldn't do that!"

"Sorry, I know, it was…"

"Have you seen how much she's drunk? I don't know how she's still upright, but I don't have a demonic tolerance for alcohol! I'd probably… like, end up catatonic!" Cattleya paused. "Also, it would be wrong to take advantage of her," she added. "Or possibly right! I'm sorry, I still don't have this evil vocabulary thingie working properly!"

"And I can shoot hellfire from my eyes so if you start trying to vamp on me I might do something you'll regret," Jessica added darkly, looking around for anything with more alcohol in it.

"Precisely!" Cattleya said, in a happy tone. "My condition understands threats of burny violence. So everything's just swell!"

"... I see," Louise said, slipping down from her chair. Yes, perhaps everything would be better with a drink in her. One which hopefully she would be able to finish before Jessica made a move on it.

* * *

…

* * *

All alone, Louise de la Vallière wandered through the thronging masses of the aristocracy of the Abyss. This might possibly have been a mistake, she considered. She didn't realise how much she had relied on being near Jessica, who knew all the strange customs of this place, and Cattleya, who could tear the head off a man with only a minimum of effort.

She squared her jaw, and steeled her nerve. She couldn't show fear. They might laugh at her. Or kill her and eat her soul. The latter was probably the worse of the two options, but it was a close thing.

"Fair lady, I have always found that the advantage of this prayer-fiscal method is that one can so easily trap mortal cultists in a cycle of endless dependency, a captive market which one can restrict their options where they must continue in their worship or suffer immediate withdrawal," a lilac-skinned bald demoness with pitch black eyes was saying to the busty, horned redhead who had won the 'Best Economic Domination Plan' award.

"That's certainly a thing," the red-head said back, "but have you ever considered instead building up the value of your human capital?"

"Once. It ended poorly, because a Hero found them. With how unstable the human world is at the moment, a slash-and-grab strategy is the only one which works. Long term investments are just too risky at the moment."

"That is a real problem," the other demon said sadly.

Louise grated her teeth at that. Oh, if she could just set the lilac demoness on fire! How dare she treat people like that! Stamping off with a disgusted glare at the various scantily clad women of Evil around her, she tried to find a waiter.

The reason for the paucity of the help was explained when she found the table of dragons. Her finding involved 'looking towards the end of the vast hall where the giant scaled flying lizards were'. There was a full crew of tuxedoed demons serving them drinks, pigs wrapped in bacon, and cows impaled on oversized cocktail sticks. The aforementioned giant scaled flying lizards came in all colours, from the smallest blue one to a giant black one who, despite the best efforts of the serving staff, kept on smoking. Louise decided to listen in while she tried to catch the attention of the help; after all, any little bit of information she could gather could help thwart the causes of Evil that was not her.

Not that she was evil, of course.

"The hoard market is up," declared a female-sounding green-gold dragon, holding a bathtub-sized vessel of wine.

"Not really surprising; the price of gold and jewels always increases in these troubled times," said a grey dragon.

"Oh, indeed, indeed," said the black-scaled dragon said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I must admit, I was over-leveraged in property. The way the bottom fell out of the dungeon market twenty years ago adversely affected my capital position quite badly. I'd bought to let, and when all those petty overlords and dark champions and the like proved unable to meet the rent – because blessed Heroes had cut their heads off – I went into negative equity. I lost vast sums in the Karinian Crash."

"Oh, indeed, me too, me too," said the feminine-sounding green-gold one, sipping from her drink. "Why, it shows quite shocking irresponsibility by the nations of the world. To think that they blame us for burning down all those towns and demanding tributes of princesses! The way they sent all those Heroes to pillage my dungeons was nothing less than government-sponsored theft!"

"I think what we have to discuss here," added the black dragon, "is who are the real forces of progress and dynamism here? The forces of Good? Hardly! Without us, society would stagnate! We create jobs and wealth! We're the ones responsible for keeping the gold flowing!"

"From humans to us," agreed the red-scaled one.

"Quite so! Why, peasants would probably laze around all day if they weren't beaten by their lords to make as much as possible, so they can pay the tributes we demand of them! And we're the way the nobility disposes of surplus children!"

"They're juicy, and are the best we can get in this time of high prices on the world markets for princesses."

The black-scaled dragon huffed sadly. "We used to rule Halkeginia, you know," he said, exhaling a smoke ring. "Those were the days. But then the wretched forces of Good cast us down, and then when Evil inevitably rose again the new Overlords were usually humans and thus had an irrational fear of putting us in charge again." He fixed a heavy eye on the youngest and smallest dragon at their table. "Pay close attention to our words, young lady; don't ever believe humans when they tell you that they're offering an alliance out of the Darkness of their hearts. Only accept payment in gold."

"Or precious gems," interjected the red-scaled one.

"Oh, indeed, indeed. But favours are worthless compared to lucre. Humans often try to give us filthy lucre, but you should have better standards and only accept clean coinage. Are you keeping this all in mind, young one?" he said, leaning towards the smaller blue one in a way which Louise could not help but feel was a paternalistic manner.

"Yes! Yes, it's really interesting!" the blue dragon said, sounding young, female, and more than a little awestruck. "I'm… well, I'm really honoured to be invited to sit with all of you and… I didn't expect any of this, so I don't want to seem rude and interfere or anything!"

"Proper behaviour from the young," the green-gold dragon said, approvingly. "Ah, I used to be romantically involved with your father; tell me, what does he have you doing at the moment?"

"Oh!" said the blue dragon. "Well, my parents don't believe in inheritance unless we can prove that we can make enough money on our own that we don't need it."

"A somewhat radical position," a grey-scaled dragon said, snootily. "A real traditional family would just let their children eat each other or be killed by heroes until one survived who deserved the inheritance."

"So, well, at the moment I'm… I mean, I have an intern position with Big S… with Milady d'Winter. I just need the experience and the contacts before I can build up my first hoard. She's put me in contact with a lot of dealers in occult tomes and blasphemous books! She also, when we're not otherwise occupied, lets me live in her ruined… well, it's not quite a ruined castle, it's mostly only a bit dilapidated, but at least it hasn't had a fresh coat of paint in a while. That's how I got the invite to be here, at the Cabal Awards; she… well, she relies on me for a lot, so she needed me to come with her!"

"Milady d'Winter?" asked the black-scaled dragon, frowning. "I don't believe I've heard of her."

"No, no, she's a very private human. She does assassinations, eliminations and disposal of rivals for… well, it's government work, I think you'll understand if I can't say more. I don't want to get a bad reputation this early in my career!"

"Very wise, very wise. No one likes a blabbermouth."

"Oh, indeed so," the black dragon said. "Hmm. Tell me, does she take private commissions? There's a wretched evil clown who's being extremely obnoxious and is kidnapping children from a place I've gone to quite some effort to develop as a long-term investment. This cannot stand; if he isn't disposed of quickly, I'm afraid some blasted Heroes will show up and ruin years of work."

"I'll certainly put you in contact! And…"

That was all Louise cared to listen to, because she was bored, thirsty, and had managed to work her way up to a waiter.

"Wine!" she demanded, and then paused. "Wait, no. What do you have that's stronger?"

* * *

…

* * *

Even Cattleya's smile was starting to get a little fixed as Jessica continued to drink. This may have been the product of her surprise just how many shots the other woman was managing to put away. It may also have been because she was slowly being exposed to the full list of Jessica's diatribes.

The current topic was 'how hard it was to get drunk when you have the alcohol tolerance of an incubus'.

Cattleya strongly suspected that Jessica had rather less resilience to drink than she thought she had. She was also starting to get thirsty herself, and was wondering where Louise had got to. The appearance of the elf who had given the speech for 'Best Halkeginian Villain', holding what looked to be a glass of fruit juice, was rather a welcome relief.

"Oh, heya, Lilly!" Jessica announced loudly. "How're you doing?"

The elf blinked, gingerly picking her way over to their table. She was taking more than a little care not to step out of her dress – if were one to call it that substantial a garment – and had both arms crossed protectively in front of her in case of mishaps. "Um. I'm… uh, w-well, I think I'm… okay. I mean, I… I w-wanted to _die _out there wearing this and I d-don't know how Emerald t-talked me into wearing this and…"

"That's great! I'm doing _shit_."

"Oh. Um." Lilly wilted in the face of this conversational opening, but bravely pushed on. "You were s-so right about the dress. Arachnochique is… um, not me. At all." She sighed. "It's… actually w-worse than when we have to c-carry out things to our dark g-goddess when we're… um, naked, because at least that's dark and everyone's naked and… well, she mostly just eyes us up, says we're all out of shape, and makes us d-do more training afterwards. Everyone was just staring at me, and n-not in a good way! Your overlady person and your fr-friend here… those look like things I could actually wear. And the masks would hide the blushing."

"Well, at least someone fucking values my opinion!" Jessica declared to the world.

Lilly took a seat, muttering under her breath and blushing bright red as a wardrobe malfunction necessitated a hasty recovery. She edged closer to Cattleya. "How much has she had?" she asked.

Cattleya pointed mutely at the table. "All of that. Um. Do you want to borrow my cloak?" Cattleya offered, feeling acute sympathetic embarrassment for the other girl. Even if she was an elf.

The look of gratitude in Lilly's eyes was nearly terrifying in its intensity. "Thank you thank you," she said, looking a lot happier now she was wearing a red-lined opera cloak and had multiplied the area of fabric she was wearing by about two orders of magnitude. "Uh… you're the C-Carmine Countess, right? I… uh, saw a sketch of you in the j-journals."

Cattelya nodded. "Even though," she dropped her voice, "I'm not really a countess," she said. It was so clever of her! It made her sound as if she was secretly lower class pretending to be a higher aristocrat, rather than a member of the high nobility pretending to be an inferior noble. No one would ever suspect that! "And you're called Lillysuffering?" she asked.

"Please, call me Lilly." The elf dropped her voice in turn. "It's my real name," she admitted. "I j-just know how _stupid _Lillysuffering sounds, but it's the one people know m-me by." She sighed. "I should h-have begged Emerald to d-do this ceremony instead of m-me and said I was doing… um, some dark ritual or something," she said. "I get all n-nervous in public places, and I h-hate-hate-hate Los Diablos. There's no trees or… or… it's dead. And all polluted. It's as b-bad as home." She paused. "As good as home," she corrected herself.

Cattleya nodded sympathetically. "I don't think demons really go in for nature," she agreed. "I don't like that; running with my wolves was one of the things I really like doing when M… whenever I could!"

"Oh, you keep wolves?" Lilly said enthusiastically. "I have a few, but I really like my pet spiders! They're so cute! And they're such good mothers, too!"

"I tried spiders, but I never had much luck with them," Cattleya admitted. "Though I think some of that is due to my bats."

"Oh yes, bats are a real problem. They eat the spiders and also the same prey. Have you tried any ground-living spiders?"

Jessica pointed an accusatory finger at Cattleya, grabbing the nearest drink and downing it. "You! Don't start trying to… you know, fucking vamp her up! Lilly's a friend! I don't want you breaking her heart by taking away all the blood it needs!"

"Uh," Cattleya said, leaning back in her seat, "that was a trifle unexpected. What did I do to deserve that? And please, L… my lady has already asked you this evening about not swearing so much."

"J-Jessica is a m-mean drunk," Lilly contributed.

"No I'm not! Shut the fuck up, Lilly!" Jessica paused. "Oh dear," she added, because the elf seemed to be somewhat closer to being in tears than she normally was. "Look, just drink your fruit juice."

"Y-you drank it. Just now."

Jessica looked at the glass in her hand. "Huh. So I did. Where did that come from?"

"I put it down," Lilly said, as Cattleya carefully eased the empty glass out of Jessica's hand.

The dark-haired girl leant back, her stubby wings arching upwards over the back of her seat. "Okay, maybe I'm a little drunk," she admitted. "And really, really pissed off. In fact, I'm fucking enraged! Fuck this! Fucking cheating fixed unfair…"

Metal crunched as Cattleya squeezed down on the table, her fingers extending into claws. Fangs bared, she leaned forwards. "Just stop swearing so much!" she hissed in a corpse-rattle.

Lilly gave a pathetic squeak, and the red glow in the vampire's eyes died down. "Oh, I'm so dreadfully sorry," Cattleya apologised. "Really, I very much am. That's not me. That's the hunger for the blood of the living speaking. It's just flipping annoying, how you swear all the time."

"Maybe I've got the right!" Jessica snapped back. "Maybe I totally should have won that and it went to an uncreative, talentless hack! Who probably bought the prize! Or f… slept with the Cabal for it!"

"Please!" Lilly said, raising her hands. "C-can't we all just get along?"

A silence fell over the table, the half-incubus brooding and the elf wringing her hands together, looking nervously between the two of them. Cattleya, for want of anything else to do started shifting empty glasses around the table.

Jessica blinked heavily, and focussed on the pink-haired woman. "What are you even doing?" she asked, frowning slightly blearily.

"Oh!" Cattleya put down the glasses, and clapped her hands. "I'm just moving all the glasses so they're positioned symmetrically on the table. At the moment, they're all over by you, and it's just…" the woman shuddered, "… it's like when you walk into a room and one of the paintings isn't level. It's like a pain in the eye!"

Jessica stared at her. "Whatever makes you happy," she said, eventually.

"I wonder if there's anyone to drink," Cattleya said, looking around. "I just can't stay here staring at these things!"

"If you're going to be getting some wine, um…" began Lilly, "can you see if they're doing s-something very weak?"

"Oh no," Cattleya said, "I don't drink… wine." She paused, and added, "It's just jolly nasty tasting." She pulled herself up, and neatly flowed into the crowd, moving with inhuman elegance.

There was a silence.

"Well… uh, she s-seems nice," Lilly said brightly. "I mean, for an undead m-monster. And. Um. You do swear too much. And you're drunk."

* * *

…

* * *

After several minutes, Louise managed to explain while she had, in fact, asked what they had that was stronger that wine, she did not want an alphabetical list, and also wanted it to be both not too strong, and not fatal to someone with a human metabolism. That reduced the list down to a manageable size.

In the end, she had still just ended up with wine. Although it was a very good vintage, grown by evil Romalian monks according to the server. She had made a note of the monastery it allegedly came from. It would see righteous purging, in time.

Though she might want to order a few bottles first. This really was a very good wine, she thought, sipping it. And then she tried not to spit it out, at the sight of the… thing heading towards her, with a quill and notepad in hand. Louise tried not to stare at the twisted figure. It was a woman, yes, and in certain ways she could have had the potential to… well, not be a horrific blasphemy against all that was right and proper. But as it was, she was certainly eyecatching, and the overlady could barely take her eyes off the – demon? That had to be a demon, right? – the woman.

She had curves in all the wrong places. The girl was fairly sure the chest was not meant to bend like that. Or expose its contents.

"Ah, the Steel Maiden! Sah'leah Juen'nez, Los Diablos Times. You were up for two awards, yes? But didn't get either of them. How do you feel about that?" The woman's quill was at the ready, like some monstrous talon.

Wait, no, it _was _a monstrous talon.

"Well, I wasn't the favourite," Louise said blandly. "And Emperor Lee… the Cathayan emperor… well, I feel no shame in saying that he is a more wicked man than me. But trust me, I'm already working on the plans for my entry for next year."

"Considering your very first year saw you murdering a member of the Regency Council of Tristain and stealing an Evil artefact from the de la Vallières, that'll certainly be something to see," the journalist said. "Care to give my readers a clue to what you're planning?"

"Of course not," Louise said, flatly, and then forced herself to smile. "That would just ruin the surprise."

"Rumours have whirling around Los Diablos dinner circuits about your background," the twisted woman said. "The accent of a Tristainian noble from a very well-off family, you refuse to show your face in public, and you have the Gnarl himself as an advisor… is it true you were once one of the comte de Mott's mistresses, before you suffered a disfiguring injury and your lover cast you out?"

Louise balled her free hand into a fist, the other still occupied with holding her wine glass. "I do not comment on my past," she said icily, "and anyone who asks should take care. I consider such speculation _highly _insulting."

"Still going for the mysterious past," the journalist said, apparently not intimidated at all. "Fair enough. Please can you hold still for a moment, while my assistant," she gestured at a monstrous half-human, half-spider creature worked away with a charcoal, "… yes, we have your sketch. Thank you very much for your time, your evilness. I don't want to occupy too much of your time; not when you have other demands on your time." She winked at Louise, in a salacious manner, and then wandered off toward the table of the dragons.

Louise let out a breath slowly, turned, and found herself face-to-face with Emperor Lee.

"Um," she said.

The Cathayan man said something.

"This Imperial Dark Majesty, Emperor Lee, Lord of the Dragon Throne, Master of Wickedness, Lord of the Countless Armies of the East, Tyrant of the Prohibited City, Sorcerer-Vizier of the Ninth Seal bids you welcome!" announced his translator.

Louise took in her rival up close. He was… yes, he was handsome, in a somewhat exotic manner, but also surprisingly young. She would be surprised if he was more than a few years older than her, if that. His hair was dark and somewhat spikey, as seemed to be customary for many of the inhabitants of the Mystic East; his eyes were sharp. His dark robe, now that she looked closer, was not one piece; instead, it was made up of carefully layered garments of subtly different shades of black and dark blue, picked out with tastefully done hints of silver.

He was also, unless she was very mistaken, wearing armour under it.

"Greetings, your majesty," she said, because there was such thing as manners.

The emperor said something.

"This Imperial Dark Majesty, Emperor Lee, Lord of the Dragon Throne, Master of Wickedness, Lord of the Countless Armies of the East, Tyrant of the Prohibited City, Sorcerer-Vizier of the Ninth Seal bids ye; heed well his words, for he is the fountain of all wisdom! You barbarians of the outer lands should be honoured to hear him speak! Listen well, for he says that he expresses mild respect for your deeds and your actions! For a lackless barbarian, you have done acceptably!"

Louise began to redden, and the emperor said something harshly.

"This Imperial Dark Majesty, Emperor Lee, Lord of the Dragon Throne, Master of Wickedness, Lord of the Countless Armies of the East, Tyrant of the Prohibited City, Sorcerer-Vizier of the Ninth Seal bids ye; heed well his words, for he is the fountain of all wisdom! If you don't stop interjecting commentary on what he is saying, he will have your fingernails pulled out with red hot pliers and hammered into your eye sock… oh, he was talking to me."

There was a babble of foreign language between the two of them, and the translator hurried off, throwing nervous glances behind them.

"Translators," the emperor said in heavily accented Romalian. "They more trouble than person is worth, I think some days."

Louise smiled, a genuine expression of amusement. "You speak Romalian very well," she said. Certainly far better than she could speak Cathayan, which was to say, 'not at all'.

"Oh, you no flatter me now. I know I not that good, but maybe, now we talk without I insult you because of stupid translator. I speak small Romalian."

"No, no," Louise insisted. "I can understand you; I deal with people on a day to day basis who have a far worse grip on the language than you do."

He probably didn't need to know that those people were minions, but that didn't make it not true.

Together, they made their way through the hall, picking their way through crowds of demons, warlocks, and the other attendees.

"Sometimes, I feel like idiots surround me," Lee said. "Not just translator, though he have no will to survive. You see rivals? I no respect person who no grasp power is point of evil. Like… you wear armour. That good. Armour stop kill. I wear armour too. Evil women who no wear armour, they die. Too interested in body, not interested in keeping body intact. Useless! Act of a concubine, there to look pretty, not of ruler who keep hand around throat of world with iron grip!"

Louise blushed. "Oh, I quite agree!" she said, taking a sip of wine. "Isn't it very telling that the greatest female Hero… indeed, the greatest Hero of the last generation wore full armour?"

The emperor let out a slow breath. "Yes, we hear tales of the Karin in Cathay," he said. "Very scary lady. I hear tale that she no has fingers under metal glove; she just has more wand for more magic. She not fall into trap of being objectively suboptimal! You hear tale of how I kill last vizier, before I kill emperor? He get magic amulet which project him against knives, poison, and which wake him up when person try to kill him in night. He paranoid. But he not have protection against disease! He catch disease from biting insects from Ind I let loose in room, he die! What kind of person no have protection against diseases? Suboptimal!"

"I have no idea," Louise, who did not have any protection against diseases, agreed.

"It so stupid," he said, sighing. "You have impressive aura of Evil magic. You know that? You very powerful Evil sorcerer… perhaps even more power than me, but I have more dragons than you! Maybe we talk more in longer time when I find new translator who understand I no want misunderstandings. I send you head of old translator as sorry gift, yes?"

"Um… thank you?" Louise said, not quite sure where this was going. "Though I don't think that…"

"You dance?"

Oh. Was that where things were going? Oh my. Louise looked around somewhat frantically, hoping for help. All she could see was Cattleya, talking to a very handsome-looking man. No help there, then. Well, all she could do was follow her sister's example.

Louise screwed her eyes shut, downed her wine, and opened them again. "I'd love to," she said, trying to ignore the churning sensation in her stomach.

* * *

…

* * *

"Have you seen the Steel Maiden?" Cattleya asked again, speaking loudly and slowly to try to get it into the thick skull of this meat-bound musclehead. What kind of man seemed to think that his muscles replaced the capacity to converse normally?

Also, it was jolly hard to take this kind of man seriously when one was fairly sure that one could break his arm off if it wasn't a bad thing for a well-mannered lady to do. Her mother had always taught her that decent young ladies didn't tear off men's arms unless the man had attacked them first. So instead she pushed past him, ignoring his protests.

"Excuse me?" she said to the nearest waiter. "Um! Excuse me!"

"My lady?" said the demon impishly.

"Do you have… uh," she should probably be good, because she had been rather pigging out on unicorn and she had noted a certain… tightness in some of her older clothes, "… a bull's blood, please?"

"Certainly, my lady. Coming right up," he said, ducking behind a pillar and somehow emerging with a wide glass filled to the brim with red liquid.

"Thank you very much," she said, passing him a small coin, and wandering off. Jessica had given them both a long and complicated talk on how one was expected to tip the help in the Abyss, and she hadn't understood it, so she was going to follow the instructions to the letter. Cattleya took a sip, and turned pale. Delicately, trying to stop anyone from noticing it, she spat the red liquid back out into the glass. This wasn't bull's blood at all! This was just a red wine! She had a jolly good mind to find the waiter who had played this horrible, mean trick on her and give him a piece of her mind! And then drain most of his blood!

But that would be wrong.

Looking for Louise, she instead found Gnarl. The elderly minion was sitting between two very buxom demonesses, a large goblet of brandy in front of him. The blonde one was scratching him behind the ears, and… was he purring? "Ah, Countess," he said, crocking a finger at her. "How are you doing?"

"Um… well," Cattleya said. "I mean, the Abyss is jolly strange, but it's interesting. Although I can't find a drink. Have you seen the overlady?"

"Last time I saw her," Gnarl said, "she was dancing with the emperor of Cathay."

"Oh, that's nice," Cattleya said warmly. "He looked like a smart young man. Good for her."

"Take a seat," Gnarl said, patting the thigh of one of the demons sitting next to him, who giggled. "I feel we perhaps should have a little talk. There is something you can do at this little gathering to aid the overlady, and as her chief advisor I feel it is most certainly in her best interests for you to listen to my suggestions."

* * *

…


	26. Part 5-5

"_Ah, good day! Is this the headquarters of News Infernal? I would like to take out a subscription to all of your fine publications. I will make the first payment now. Just put me down under the name 'Legate de Legionary'. What? No, I don't know why you think my voice is familiar. I am certainly not a Hero in disguise, using the way that Evil publishes what its major figures do to spy on them. That would be ridiculous. What kind of Hero would be so wickedly cunning? As all us Evil people know, Good isn't that bright._"

– A Mysterious Robed and Masked Figure

* * *

…

* * *

Louise and the dark and very tyrannical usurper-emperor of the mystical lands of Cathay were mid-way through their second dance. It was a very awkward, and not at all romantic affair; partly because neither of them knew any of the dances the other did, but mostly because they were both wearing heavy armour and thus any possible flirtatious touches of flesh against flesh had two layers of demonic steel in the way.

The hordes of journalists drawing sketches of them did not help.

If her parents knew what she was doing, she would be mortified. Quite possibly literally.

But what was about to come would be Louise's most perilous, hazardous, and downright dangerous task so far in all her time of pretending-to-be-an-evil-overlady-but-not-really -being-evil.

She needed the toilet. And was wearing full armour, including an armoured skirt she had never really before and had needed Jessica's help to put on.

Oh dear.

So making her excuses, she made her way to the women's toilets. She was on a timer here, and really didn't want to run out.

"Ah, your wickedness. Shame about the awards, eh? Honestly, I think you really deserve to have won the Halkeginian one; I'd say Shafeela should have lost out for the number of times she's entered it, not to mention the way the Albionese rebels just aren't Evil enough."

Louise glanced at the cravat-wearing demon with the monocle who seemed to have taken her proximity as an excuse to start talking to her. "Thank you," she said, "but I disagree there; I would say that the Albionese rebels are very wicked indeed."

"They overthrew a king and executed him and his son; big fuss. Anyone can do that. It's not even always an Evil act! Where's the sacrifices? The torture of priests? The impalings on spikes? Nowhere to be seen!" The demon flapped his hands. "Oh, they banned festivities and parties at the Silver Pentecost? That's not Evil! That's just boring!"

"Perhaps so," Louise said, trying to step past him.

"Now you? Apart from your armour, you're doing things the proper way. You killed a member of the regency council in a dramatic duel! Bravo, I say!"

Louise had seldom been in the situation where she was trying to escape praise. It was a strange feeling. Well, she hoped that was the strange feeling she was… uh, feeling. "That's kind of you to say…" she began.

"And then stealing a wicked artefact from the forces of Good! That's what we should be encouraging today! That's the exemplar of Evil; humiliating do-Gooders while empowering yourself. Of course, I remember when the de la Vallière family was a proper force of Evil in this land. Those were the days. Why, even the mother of the current Duke once summoned me and I asked her, 'Oh, why did you summon me, little girl?' and then she branded me with a red hot iron and made me suffer for daring to call her a little girl. It turned out, of course, that her bathing in peasant blood led to her sometimes rather overshooting her intended age when restoring her youth, but that didn't matter so much to me when I was writhing in pain! And she plucked out both my eyes when I made fun of her lack of a bust and asked if her husband was into that sort of thing!" He caught Louise's dubious look at his present eyes. "I got better."

"Mmm hmm," Louise said, feeling somewhat nauseated by the descriptions of what her… grandmother had got up to. What a wicked sinful family she came from! What a good thing she was nothing like that deplorable woman! "We… uh, well, oh." She paused. "Get out of the way," she said, trying for a little less tact. "I need to… I'm heading for the toilets."

That actually worked and even got her an apology from the demon. She managed to make her way past the many and varied obstacles of people who wanted to talk to her, aware always of her sharply diminishing time limit.

The female toilets in the Abyss were not what she had expected. They looked like… well, she had only one way to explain it, and it was 'like Cattleya had been told to decorate them, and had only been allowed to use black marble, red leather, mirrors and the souls of the damned'. To put it another way, there had been lots of attempts to make them comfortable and pleasant to be in, but the base materials were somewhat working against that aim.

Louise passed the eternally-burning damned soul who reached out to cling onto and dry the hands of visitors, nodding at a vampire and a demon who seemed to be doing something arcane and mystical with white chalk on the marble surface around the sinks, and secreted herself within one of the cubicles.

* * *

…

* * *

Deep in the shadows, a blood thirsty monster lurked. Eyes gleaming red, it stood as still as the grave. It did not breathe. Its heart did not beat. It merely waited, fangs bared, for its prey.

Then Cattleya sighed and stepped out of the alcove. Lurking was not working. They were probably… sitting down somewhere, or something. Clearly she would have to go find the demon Gnarl had told her to herself.

With perfect grace, she flowed through the crowd. Everyone here smelt… delicious. Of course, everyone started smelling delicious when she was hungry, but she could positively taste the exotic bloods which were pumping around various circulatory systems.

… which was wrong and it was a curse and she really should be a good girl and just find some animal blood, but Founder darn it, it was hard work! And she had already tried to be good once today and got a glass of icky wine for her troubles.

The world, Cattleya had concluded, was a jolly mean place. Or at least it was a mean place when she was this thirsty. If she didn't get a drink soon, she'd using silly words like 'saturnine wings of tenebral night' in her thoughts and no one wanted that.

And then she paused in her search, as a remarkably out-of-place figure caught her eyes. In among the muscle-bound men, the effeminate long-haired men, and the scantily clad women was a man who looked to be in his late fifties, with greying, thinning hair. He wore a somewhat scruffy robe, with patches at the elbows, and even appeared to have ink stains on his fingers.

He looked very much like a kindly tutor, one prone to forgetting what he was meant to be talking about and going off on rambling discussions of moths and mice and whatever small animals he was currently interested in. Cattleya had always liked those tutors, especially when she was still alive and they were prone on taking her out into the gardens during summer to catch butterflies rather than talking about boring dull theology.

Running around at night with a moth-catching net just wasn't as fun. Not that she didn't still do it, but still!

Well, now her curiosity was snagged. And anyway, he looked kindly and he might know what she was doing wrong to get wine when she had specifically asked for a bull's blood.

"Hello!" she said, from directly behind him, before remembering she wasn't really meant to silently walk up behind people and introduce herself. Father had been quite firm about that. It put them on edge.

Fortunately, the elderly gentleman seemed to be quite at ease. "Ah, good evening mademoiselle," he said. "Or should I say madam?"

"Oh, no, it's certainly mademoiselle," Cattleya said. "I'm not married."

"I see," he said knowingly. What he knew, Cattleya didn't know, but that was of no accord. "I have to say, you appear to be a rather forward young lady, simply walking up to me out of the blue," he added.

"I was looking for a friend of an acquaintance, and then I saw you and you stood out so I thought I might talk to you," the girl said honestly.

"Ah. You're not a frequent attendee of these things?" he asked.

"This is my first one," she admitted. "It's jolly interesting, you know."

"Hmm. So you would like to converse with me. Well, for example, have you ever thought about how the Church is fundamentally corrupt, almost as if it was an organisation founded and run by men with no greater divine guidance, which suggests that whatever Good deeds it does could be done without the parasitic leeches of the upper clergy?" the man asked, kindly.

"I should think not," Cattleya said, rather shocked despite herself.

"You should probably try that some day," he said. "Though yes, I do have to say it's a rather questionable belief. And it's really all a matter of opinion. Now animals; animals are a much more interesting thing."

"Oh yes," Cattleya agreed, "they really are, aren't they? I am very fond of my puppies. Well, my sister keeps on saying that they're fully-grown enthralled flesh-eating wolves, but they're all puppies to me."

The man smiled, running a hand through his greying hair. "Ah, I see you are a scholar. The relationship between wolves and dogs is indeed very clear, is it not?"

"Yep! They can have adorable babies together!" Cattleya said.

"Quite so, quite so. But have you seen the skeletons of other such animals. Have you see how most animals… well, they're pretty similar. I mean, they all have four limbs, two…"

"Apart from dragons," Cattleya said helpfully. "They have six. Oh, and manticores have six, too. And griffins. Oh! And there's a wyvern skeleton in the hall in… a place where I used to live, and do you know, they have stubby nubs of bone in front of their wings which I think used to be arms! It's jolly interesting, because you can even see how the dragon skulls in Mother's collection are all very similar, and how, for example, wind dragon skulls are much sleeker than fire dragon ones, like you grabbed their snout and pulled it... oh, and turned the bones into clay at the same time. Even all the skulls are in a rather untidy heap, because she ran out of space in the ossuary for them!"

"Um…" began the man.

"Oh, this is frightfully interesting! I haven't got to talk to someone about this in a long time! Do you have anything else you want to talk about? And do you know what I have to ask the waiters for to get some blood?"

"You're a vampire?" the man asked, disappointed. "Oh, that's a shame."

"Sorry," Cattleya apologised. "Uh, why is that a shame? I mean, apart from the obvious reason."

"Well, I'm afraid, young lady, that your soul is irrevocably tied to your corporeal, necrotic form. It's utterly worthless to me. You couldn't sell it even if you wanted to."

"I think I'm missing something," Cattleya said, frankly.

"Oh, I do apologise. Some call me the Doubter; others, the Underminer of Faith; others yet the Prince of Moral Decay. Where I walk the world, men commit adultery, often with other men; women get pregnant outside of marriage, cats sleep with dogs and generally I cause immorality and the breakdown of the rightful order of things. The upper echelons of the Church whisper my name in fear, for mere knowledge of a dark god such as myself induces sin in the doubtful, and that name, that dreadful name is _Athe_."

"Oh," said Cattleya in a small voice. She had been accidentally very, very naughty talking to this dark god. Now she felt all guilty about it; more so because she had been enjoying the discussion. Her interest in adorable little animals had always been something she had in common with her elder sister, and before everything had been ruined by it being Eleanore's fault that she was now a blood-hungry queen of the night. They had been close, her trailing after her cool big sister with her butterfly nets and her plant sample bag, and… now the two of them never talked. Even on the rare occasions their parents got them in the same room – and that was no more than once or twice a year. And…

"… wait. I beg your pardon?" she said politely. "But did you say my soul was tied to my body?"

"Yes, a wretched and stinking tainted thing that must feed of the life of more vital creatures, drawing in the life and energy of the world around it to maintain its own horrific existence for ever and ever and…"

"But it is my soul, yes? Not some demon or something bound into my body that just thinks that it's me even though it isn't?"

"Well, yes, but…"

Cattleya embraced the malevolent deity in a big, all-encompassing hug. "Thank you thank you thank you!" she squealed. "That's something I've wanted to know for ages! I do have a soul! Thank you very much! I'm sorry, it's been really jolly interesting talking to you and I'd like to maybe talk to you some more later about adorable, cute animals and the like and how they're all similar, but I do have to talk to some other people and I really wouldn't want to waste your time! Thank you!"

And with that said, she skipped off into the crowd, leaving the dark being of black faith somewhat confused. It was only when she got most of the way across the room that she remembered she hadn't even managed to give him a chance to tell her how to get blood. Oh, she was so silly! And he had been so nice, and so very interesting! Yes, technically he said he had been a dark god and good girls didn't associate with them, but at least he had been the better class of dark god, and didn't have, you know, slime or anything uncouth like that.

She smiled a shy smile. And after that interesting talk and how she had got the wonderful news that she was her and not some monster just pretending to be her – which had been worrying her for quite a while after she had read that philosophy book – now she had found the demoness Gnarl had sent her to look for, who appeared to be dressed mostly in snow.

Her sister's cute little goblin advisor thing had said that this demon had super-special important information, and that she should stop at no lengths to obtain it.

Cattleya's stomach rumbled. The lengths she went to for her little sister, really!

"Hello!"

* * *

…

* * *

Seven minutes of hopping around and cursing under her breath, two minutes of private business, and six more minutes of hopping around and muttering as she tried to refasten some of the ties, Louise opened the door. Well. This may be the Abyss, the place of wickedness and sin and other such dreadful things, but they certainly had their priorities right in certain ways. She busied herself at the basin, ignoring the moaning of the damned soul who was chained to the wall handing out towels.

"Oh, hello there," a somewhat sultry drawl said behind her. "The Overlady of the North, wasn't it? The one who was with the Gnarl."

Louise turned to come face to… well, the newcomer was taller than her and somewhat on the buxom side, so she looked up so the two of them were face to face. It was the succubus who had been announcing the arrivals, the one – she could recall – who Jessica had complained about. Looking at her up close, away from the lights and the glamour, Louise could indeed see that – insofar as one could determine a demon's age – she looked to be fairly young, perhaps only as old as Jessica herself, and there was a distinct reddish tint to her blonde hair she hadn't noticed the first time and a slightly exotic cast to her eyes and her skin. She looked vaguely familiar. It must have been the family tie to Jessica, she considered.

"Izah'belya? Was that it?" Louise asked. "I… think I read it in an… uh, journal. I heard your commentary on the way in."

"Yes, that's me," the blonde said, red eyes wide and cheerful-looking. "I've been following your exploits, by the way. You've been pretty impressive, and… well, honestly, I couldn't stand that slimy little man."

Louise blinked. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"The comte de Mott. Dreadful little man," Izah'belya said, sniffing. "Only interested in the temptations of the flesh. Nothing cerebral about him at all. What kind of a man has no interest at all in a woman who proves to be perfectly capable of intelligent conversation when she offers him some mutually beneficial deals?"

The girl pursed her lips. "I'm not sure how to put this," she said critically, "but… uh, you are a succubus."

Izah'belya rolled her eyes. "Oh please, don't tell me you've been listening to J'eszika," she said, flexing her bat-like wings. "My cousin is a spoilt, pandered half-breed who is doted over by her father who's a mockery of the once-proud prince of the abyss he was. She lives in a perpetual state of bitterness at my wing of the family, and believes she's entitled to the world. Why, she stole Prince Infernalis from me when we were little girls and tore his head off!"

"Uh…"

"He was my favourite doll!" The succubus took a deep breath. "But honestly, that's not that important. I was hoping to get to speak to you anyway, and this seems as good a place as any. How are you enjoying things here? You've got a rather mysterious past… is this your first time at the Cabal Awards?"

"Yes," Louise admitted.

The succubus gave a throaty chuckle. "Did you like my sister's… well, she's a half-sister, but who's counting… did you like her presentation? Me, I was quite amazed she managed to remember her entire speech. That's why I suspect that she had it written on her hand. Not too bright, I'm afraid. Like most of my half-sisters."

Louise smiled back at the other girl warmly. She certainly seemed nice enough, and she was really rather pretty and… wait a moment. That wasn't a normal thought. Not one bit! She didn't think about how other girls were pretty! Especially not demonic girls. Even Jessica made her think of handsomeness, not prettiness! Yes, now that she focussed on it, it felt rather like one of the thoughts Jessica tended to provoke when she got masculine, though far weaker and more subtle.

"Please don't do that," Louise said, false sweetness in her voice. "I find it very displeasing indeed. And," she clicked her metal-clad fingers against the marble of the sinks, "rather offensive, actually."

The blonde's eyebrow quirked upwards. "I'm not doing anything," she said, in apparent innocence.

Louise didn't believe her.

"But anyway," Izah'belya continued, "I do believe you and I can have some rather profitable interactions." She smiled. "Don't mistake me for some shallow lovvie like Ah-Nahb'elle or Kri'stinne. My primary interests lie in the occult trade." She chuckled again. "I believe you might say I 'succubus' for pleasure, not profit, if you were to be very crude. And you are very, very promising." She dropped her voice. "Shall I let you in on a little secret?"

The overlady nodded, as someone was noisily sick in one of the closed cubicles.

"Certain… friends of mine are party to some of the Cabal's deliberations. Things were _incredibly _close. Most years, you'd have won Best Newcomer; Emperor Lee – have you talked to him? Frightful bore! No sense of fun at all! – well, there's no way he couldn't have won. And not just because he'd probably have hatched some long term plan to sweep into Los Diablos leading an army of dragons," she added, bat-like wings twitching. "And the Best Halkeginian Villain one was even closer."

Louise blushed. Internally she was almost singing. It had been that close, had it? And then her mind kicked back into action. "You think I am a… how to put it? A winning horse to back?" she asked.

The succubus shook out her long reddish-blonde hair. "Precisely," she said. "Though, to put it another way, if you read the journals, you'll know that my mother is Queen of the Abyss in all but name, and is virtually uncontested. My uncle is bound and trapped. And I have lots and lots of half-sisters. The line of succession is… somewhat unclear, if for some reason my mother should be slain by heroes. Which is fairly likely," Izah'belya said bluntly, "given my family's luck in the past century."

"What do you want?" Louise said bluntly.

"Oh, it's really not what I want," the other girl said. "It's what I can offer you. I think you have the potential to dominate Tristian, to bring it under a reign of darkness, and I want in. I own Prahdear… literally; the fool gambled his soul and lost. I pulled strings with my mother to make sure he won and will be getting headlines for years to come, so I can get you outfitted by the winner of the Best Outfit. I can get you in full-sheet spreads in all the specialist journals; get you an outfit worth speaking of, and as I said, my primary interests lie in the occult trade. You're a sorceress; I have plenty of tomes, vile blades and damn'd suits of armour you would be interested in."

Louise's eyes narrowed, the light within burning brighter. "I have armour," she said flatly.

"And poor you!" the succubus said, red eyes widening and one lightly-tanned hand going to her mouth. "To think J'eszika used you as a test subject for her dreadfully mannish tastes! I don't suppose I can blame my cousin there, you know; it's not her fault that her father is a boorish incubus, but she could at least fight it better! My mother even offered to adopt her, you know, but she had the ill taste to turn it down."

Louise's thoughts flashed to ice-cold. She had fought to have armour which had her not looking like some… some… some Germanian trollop! She had needed to argue Jessica down! And now this tall, busty – which already made her ill-inclined to like her – succubus was daring to condemn her armour? She… she would probably want her to start wearing something more typical of the females around here!

Nobody insulted the armour. Nobody. She was fiercely protective of her armour. Because it was protective of her. In that it actually protected her.

"No thank you," she said, in a clipped tone. "Though I will, of course, note that you are a source of books and the like, I believe that as it stands, I am more than happy with my current arrangements. That will be all."

The succubus stepped back, her face flashing from shock to disdain to a sullen pout. "That's not very fair!" Izah'belya said sulkily. "You could at least give it some proper thought! That's… that's actually rather hurtful! Oh, what, do you think this is all just part of some elaborate seduction scheme? Is that it? I bet that's it!"

Louise said nothing, because she was a well-bred and well-mannered young lady and thus really wasn't supposed to lie.

The blonde threw her hands up. "Typical! Honestly, you can rig the Cabal Awards and muscle into the occult materials trade, but Abyss forbid that anyone take a succubus seriously when she thinks with her brain!" Wings twitching irately behind her, she flounced out.

Staring at herself in the mirror, Louise sighed. She was rather afraid Gnarl was going to shout at her when he found out that she had made this decision without even checking with him. And then she was hit by a ballistic Jessica.

"Thank you thank you thank you," Jessica sobbed into her shoulder.

"Where did you come from?" was about all the overlady could manage, not least because she was having to support the rather heavier girl.

"I was being sick because… um, I think I forgot to eat and so it was all disagreeing with me and I heard it and…"

"How much of it did you hear?" Louise asked, feeling acutely embarrassed by the whole thing.

"All of it! And you… you turned all of that down! For me!"

Louise tried to manoeuvre Jessica around, so she could at least support her weight on her front and let her sob into her surcoat. Now she felt like a fraud. She hadn't been thinking of Jessica at all with that decision; it had been a pure, instinctive reflexive rejection at the idea of having to wear something disgracefully skimpy. "Well, I still want to buy books from her if I can…" she said, trying to quench the guilt.

"Oh, that's just… that's just magic! But you… I'm just one person, and you turned down having Prahdear and all his teams working to outfit you and…" Jessica degenerated into bubbling, coherence only working its way back up, "… and just because I'm a half-breed, of course I'm never going to win something like this!" She wiped her eyes on her sleeves. "I never asked for my mother to be a Hero!" she snapped. "I bet that bitch hardly had to pull any strings to make sure her pet talentless hack won! I've been trying since I was fifteen to get some respect, and do you know, you're the first time I got it! I… I actually had people saying I did good stuff, talking about orders since I made your armour!"

"There, there," Louise said, patting her gingerly and trying to ignore the growing shortness of breath and warm fuzziness which told her that Jessica was near and getting emotional.

"I can't do things in the surface world because I'm half-demon, and… and I can't do things down here, because I'm half-Hero. Everyone always suspects that I'm suddenly going to… to start using my powers for Good! Just because my mother was a Hero and Dad's the Prince of the Incubi! Only you and your… your sister and... and Lilly and her misfits just treat me as… as… as a person!"

Supporting Jessica's weight, Louise had managed to stagger over to the damned soul with the fluffy towels, and took one of them, passing them to the other girl. "There, there," she said again, because it hadn't produced a bad response the first time.

Jessica mopped down her face and blew her nose on the towel. She was red and blotchy in the face, and also had the slightest hint of a goatee. "Well, you know what! You can count me in! If the only people who actually seem to want me around are you and Lilly… well, I'm on your side, because Lilly lives out in the woods and it's cold and miserable out there and I went camping with her once and… I don't want to live out there for extended periods. If that's all right with you, I mean. You… you don't have an armourer, right? I can do that!"

Louise patted her on the shoulder. "You're drunk," she told Jessica.

"I know! But I'm still doing it! My bitchy cousin has just made it very clear I'm… I'm not going to get my life's ambition working in the system of the Abyss, so I'm going outside it!"

"What ambition would that be?" Louise asked, while she got another towel and began to mop herself down from where Jessica had cried on her.

"Oh?" Jessica said, putting her hands on her hips. Her eyes glinted, despite the distinctly queasy expression on her face. "My ultimate ambition? I don't want to follow fashion. I want to be ahead of it. I want to be the one leading it!"

Louise smiled. "Well, this should help," she agreed.

"And then," Jessica continued, "once I'm well ahead of fashion, I can dig a big pit for fashion, and when it falls down it, I'll have fashion trapped."

"Um," said Louise. "I think you lost me there."

"And when fashion is at my mercy, I will break it like a wild horse! And then tame it, and it will be my noble steed, taking me wherever I want to go. If it will not be tamed, I will call upon dark magics and bind its will to mine, branding it forever with my mark! The soul of fashion will be mine!"

"Uh, well, that's ambitious," Louise said quickly. "I'm not sure if what you're saying is a metaphor or something or… oh, look. Welcome on-board, anyway."

Jessica grinned. "Glad to be," she said, before paling. "Oh crap," she said, dashing back into the toilet, and throwing up again.

There came a knock at the door. "Ladies," said a female demon in the armour of one of the security guards, "the Cabal extends its apologies, but all guests are requested to gather in the main hall. We appear to have a Hero loose backstage. He's got a pistol, a burning sword, and is only wearing a loincloth and a bow tie. We would remind all guests not to attempt sexual congress with armed and dangerous heroes who are attempting to kill them. He has already set fire to large amounts of the backstage area and killed several demons, but Security expects to have the situation under control momentarily."

Jessica was noisily sick again.

Louise nodded at the armoured demon. "Uh… can you just give us five minutes?" she asked sweetly.

* * *

…

* * *

It was an enlarged group which made its way back to Louise's ruined tower and attached dungeon complex.

"I do wonder how on earth a Hero managed to break out from a succubus' bedroom and… and what he was doing there in the first place," Louise asked, removing her helmet to show that she was more than a little red in the face. "Honestly, I can't say he was much of a Hero if he let himself be lured into such a place!"

"I got no idea what-so-ever," Igni said confidently. "It totally not because he destroy all evidence we was mmmph mmmph mmmph."

"Oh look at me so clumsy I fall over and accidentally my hand go over your mouth and I holds on very tight and oops if you is not stopping trying to talk I might axe-dent-ly choke you to death," Maggat said hastily. "We not disturb you any more, Overlady, Gnarl, Oversister and… one who we not have name for yet!"

"In fact, we go hold minion conclave to think up name for her!" Maxy intruded. "And we put your bags away so you not fall over them and we not have any more accidental Igni choking moments and I not have to try to stop Fettid from talking and get stabbed repeatedly for my pains. Which'll be real biggie pains."

"Yeah!" Fettid agreed. "Now we can go hide all the loot we stole because the Hero hid that we was…" and then anything else that could have been said was lost when Fettid stabbed Maxy in the eye when he tried to shut her up. The minions swarmed off, Maxy in the lead but closely pursued by the green, who was shouting that she wanted her knife back

Jessica stared at the departing minions blearily, holding an icepack to her head. "Did… that minion just use the word 'conclave'?" she asked, blinking.

"That one does it periodically," Louise explained. "The other minions appear to think he has caught education. As in, learning things is a disease."

"That was a very profitable trip," Gnarl said happily, thumps hooked into his pockets. "Very, very profitable. You acquired an armourer, I doubled the money in the treasury and…"

"You did what?" Louise asked, eyes widening. "How?"

"I bet the entire treasury on the results of the Cabal Awards," Gnarl said simply.

"You did what!" Louise shrieked. "You… the entire treasury! You gambled it?"

"Your wickedness," Gnarl said, sounding shocked, "I do not approve of gambling! Not one bit! The entire arrangement is rigged so the house wins, and when you are not the house, that's a terribly silly thing to do."

Louise opened her mouth, about to say something. Then she closed it again, and took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. She didn't want to embarrass herself in front of Jessica. "I suppose you're going to say that placing bets using all the treasury on the winners of the Cabal Awards wasn't gambling?" she said, resorting to sarcasm.

"Of course it wasn't." The elderly minion grinned a terrible, malevolent grin. "Gambling implies the chance of loss. It would have been very foolish to change the results, because the Cabal knows who they selected to be the winners. But reading the selection and then putting a carefully designed selection of bets weighted so there is a considerable, but plausible net gain which offsets the deliberate losses – why, that is a far more sinisterly sensible idea." He paused. "And that is why, your evilness, I have doubled the amount in the treasury with the assistance of some of the little darlings, while your hands remain clean."

The overlady was speechless. "Very… uh." She paused. "Well done," she concluded.

"Thank you, your evilness. Cattleya also assisted in something else."

"Yes, yes! There was something I meant to tell you!" Cattleya said, cheerfully. "Gnarl introduced me to a really interesting – and cute – demoness at the party and one thing led to another and…"

"Do I want to know?" Louise asked, dubiously.

Jessica rolled her eyes, and then groaned. She was more than a little hungover.

"Oh yes! Well, one thing led to another, she invited me to one of the private rooms because she said she wanted to talk over a business proposal with me." Cattleya frowned. "But I don't think that was what she actually meant. She was a cold one. I mean that literally! Her dress was made of snow! Real snow! But anyway, after I drained a lot of her blood she got very talkative and pliable and then we got to talking and she said all sorts of things and did you know there's a secret way into the palace in Bruxelles through a crack to the Abyss in the dungeons? She used to be summoned there all the time by the great-uncle of the Queen!"

Louise blinked. "Wait, what? You found… what?"

"A secret way into the dungeons of the palace, so we can break in secretly through the Abyss, kidnap the princess, and lock her up in… well, you don't have a tall tower, so you'll just have to keep her in the dungeons!" Cattleya frowned. "You know, Louise, people would probably take you a lot more seriously if you had a tall tower! Towers and princesses go together like wands and… and… and things you keep wands in!"

Jessica groaned and massaged her brow. "Okay, maybe when the world is a little less bright and hurting, I can look more closely at that," she said, "but I did grow up mostly in the Abyss under Bruxelles, so I know the area. Plus, Dad might have heard about this." She hung her head in her hands. "For the moment, I just want to go to bed. Did you say you had a room for me?"

"Oh yes, uh…" Louise looked around, "Maggat, take Jessica to the guest quarters for now, until we get a proper room for her set up. And…"

"Speaking of her father," Gnarl said, "he left a message for you. He wishes to talk to you, your evilness. I would not recommend delaying."

Louise did in no way delay. "Scarron," she said as soon as she had got down to the tower heart.

"Ah, oui, oui," the prince of the incubi said, blowing a kiss. "So good of you to see me! I just wanted to talk about getting the delivery men to get some of my little girl's things moved over." He sniffed sadly. "Watching your children grow up and move out for the first time! It is such a tragedy!"

"I suppose so," Louise said, non-committedly.

"I also wanted to thank you," the incubus said. "Dealing so quickly with the fragment of the tower heart… well, you more than lived up to your end of the agreement. I will try my best to find the other parts, because cataclysmic magical explosions are bad for business."

"Thank you very much," Louise said, bowing her head.

"Oh, and just as a note," Scarron said casually, "if anything happens to my little girl when she is in your care, I will be freed and restored to my full power. And that means I will be coming for you, because I am very fond of _ma petit_.

"What I would do to you will be whispered by demonic mothers to scare their children in future years," Scarron continued. "The annals of the Abyss will dread to mention the torments you will suffer. Every nerve will scream in an exquisite chorus of uttermost agony, and I will ensure that you are displayed to the masses of the Abyss so that they might appreciate the beauty of the song of your pain. Even the stomachs of the most vile, the most wretched denizens of the darkest pits will be turned by the sights of what you will endure.

"Of course, with time, you will inevitably pass beyond even my skill at keeping you bound to your flesh, and so I will permit you to die," added Scarron. "Do not think your own suicide will keep you safe from me should _ma petit _perish, for I will send my slaves to the Lands of the Dead to drag your spectre, weeping and moaning, into my hands.

"And then, ah, that is when the real fun will begin, because your soul will be mine and souls, unlike flesh, can tolerate _so _much more. And it will continue for ever. And ever. And ever," concluded Scarron.

"I… I understand," Louise croaked, through a dry throat. "I… I'll keep h-her safe in the Tower."

"Oh, you would?" the image of the man said, his hand going to his mouth in faux-surprise. "How kind of you!" He essayed a small wave at her. "Bye bye! Be seeing you! One way or another!"

Louise stared at the tower heart for a long time, in numb horror. She… she was just going to go and whimper into her fist for a bit. Until she felt better.

That might well take some time.

* * *

…


	27. Return of the Heroic Interlude

**Return of the Heroic Interlude**

* * *

…

* * *

Three nervous horses and one peckish dragon made their way across the snow-covered landscape of Tristain. Leaning forwards in her saddle, arms hugging around the neck of her horse, Kirche von Zerbst groaned. "Please tell me you have an anti-hangover potion, Montmorency," she complained.

The blonde, eyes all that were visible under all warm clothing she was wearing, shook her head. "I'm out," she said. "I… uh, used the last one yesterday."

"You can call it a late birthday present," Kirche said hopefully, staring blearily out over the snow-covered landscape. "I'll be very grateful."

"And I told you, I don't have any left. It's your fault for having your birthday right after the Silver Pentacost." Monmon paused. "Well, your parents' fault at least."

"This is a hell of a way to be spending the first day as a twenty-year old," Kirche groaned.

"I was a little surprised, I must admit, that you're that old," Guiche, riding ahead of them, said. "I had thought you were the same age as us. Mind you, I'm nearly eighteen, because I'm an early spring."

Kirche shot him a glare. "Firstly, you are disgustingly fine this morning, given that you were matching me for most of the evening," she said. "Secondly… uh, hello? Did you not, you know, notice how I'm clearly older than the other girls?" She jabbed a finger at her chest. "Like these?" Fumbling at her saddlehorn, she took a slug of wine.

"Do you really need to be drinking more?" Montmorency observed primly. "That was what put you in this state in the first place."

"Yes, I do," Kirche said firmly. "And it's not because I'm stupid that I'm with you younglings, before you start being snide," she added.

"I said nothing," Monmon said mildly.

"Yeah, but you were thinking of saying it," Kirche said. "It's because of how my education got mucked up with the whole 'being kicked out of schools' thing and missing years and the like. Had my seventeenth birthday in the jails in Baghdadu, though in fairness we broke out two days later with that magic carpet and that decanter of endless water."

"Wait, what?" Guiche asked, eyes bright.

Kirche groaned, holding her head. "My father took me to kill an evil vizier with a genie in Rub Al-Khali because he felt clearly schooling wasn't right for me," she said. "Also, he wanted to introduce me to harem girls. Man, they knew a lot about sneaking secret encounters with men without the people watching them knowing."

Tabitha coughed, and looked up from her book. "Why would you keel a vizier with a genie?" she asked after a moment's thought, sounding confused. "I would use _un_knife. It is sharper. And can be 'eard by fewer people if you do ze cut in ze proper manner, or if you drive eet into the base of the skull or up and under ze ribcage, no? Are genies good for killing? Should I be knowing zis?"

"What are you… oh no, the vizier had the genie. Father killed him by braining him with the lamp." Kirche sighed, and took another gulp of wine. "Anyway, father got furious because the vizier had already used two of the wishes and only an idiot would release a genie, so he just wished it would seal itself away in the lamp in a way it could never ever escape from and then threw the lamp in the family vault." She glowered. "Which is the reason I'm still female – the whole reason we went to Rub Al-khali was that he was after that lamp," she added, "and that's why I started pestering about making a 'fresh start' in Tristain." She shook her head, putting thoughts out of mind. "This had better be worth it, Tabby," she said, trying to change the topic.

"It eez," the blue-haired girl said, returning to her book. "You saw ze mezzage, no?"

"Ah yes," Monmon interjected, "the one which you said was mysteriously pushed under your door in a mysterious manner by a mysterious person who mysteriously is promising hundreds of écu for the disposal of an evil clown who is kidnapping people from Vauban? The place where all those explosives are made?"

"Eez zere a problem?" Tabitha coughed. "Also, ze word 'myzteriouz'… eet was not uzed."

"No! I like that amount of money! It's a friendly amount of money. It's just…"

"Well, I think it's good we have a reputation as Heroes," Guiche said firmly. "Remember what the duc d'Richelieu told us; people like us are the future of heroism and in times like this, we need to work doubly hard to keep the realm secure! We need to go and teach this evil clown that wickedness is not a laughing matter!"

"Sure thing," Kirche said, kindly.

* * *

…

* * *

It was already growing dark in the winter twilight by the time they got to their destination. The town of Vauban was a strange place, the building squat, heavy structures of stone with slate roofs. There was something subtly off about the lighting. It was as if there was a storm coming, but the clouds above were winter neutral-grey. There was a foul odour about the place, too, though that at least was from the sulphur mines, dug into the side of the hill the town was built into.

Oh, and there was a giant brightly coloured village-sized circus tent set up on the brow of the hill, which the inhabitants seemed to fear to look at. That was pretty strange.

"Oh, the Lord frowns upon this place," Guiche whispered, as they rode past the corpses at the gallows by the gate. "I do not like it. It is an ill-favoured place."

Monmon looked around at the dirty buildings and the statue of a rearing dragon above a frozen pond. "You're telling me," she said. She looked around at her companions. "Do you think we should go up and… and deal with the clown in the tent now? I don't want to stay here any longer."

"I don't think we can," Kirche said. "The horses are exhausted, and we're hungry. We'll just have to… well, take watch duties and share a room, because," she glanced at a stinking tannery worker who glared back at her, "… I don't trust these people."

Guiche looked uncomfortable. "It's for the best," he said, "though we should see if we can get two adjoining rooms and blockade the door and windows of one of them, so there isn't allegations of impropriety."

Kirche rolled her eyes. "It really is an annoyance," she said. "We've shared tents, caves, ruined towers, and the jails of goblins before. But still people would talk! So we have to spend twice as much as we meant to! World! Why do you try to steal the money of hardworking Heroes such as us!"

"I could go on Sylphid and deztroy eet now," Tabitha volunteered.

The boy sighed. "We shouldn't," he said. "They said the clown is taking prisoners, yes? Well, we need to rescue them."

The blue-haired girl returned wordlessly to her book.

"So, find a room at the inn, get some food, get sleep and go up in the morning?" Kirche asked, to mutual agreement.

"If you try to drink too much, I will drop ice-cold water down the back of your neck," Monmon said. "And that goes for you too, Guiche, if you stare at her when she is drenched."

Guiche's expression was hurt as he led their procession to the inn.

* * *

…

* * *

"Barman!" announced Kirche loudly. "One mug of your finest ale, one flagon of your medium-grade wine, another flagon of… uh, some kind of fruit juice, and… what was it you wanted?"

"Milk. Warm. And _un _barrel of cider for dragon!"

"One cup of warm milk! And a barrel of cheap cider, unless you're willing to pay more, Tabby!"

When the drinks were served, Kirche took one sip of her ale and immediately went off to complain about it, while Guiche and Montmorency diluted their wine down with the fruit juice, and took advantage of the fact that as nobles, they had been able to force the commoners away from the table nearest to the fire. Tabitha sipped at her warm milk while reading a book.

"What is that?"

"A book," Tabitha said, without looking up.

"No, I know that." Montmorency took a deep breath. "I mean, what's the book about?"

"Blood."

"Uh…"

"Did you know? Ze human body 'as a lot of water in it. In a baby, eet is as much as seventy-five perzent, but in adults eet eez closer to sixty. In ze very fat, it can get as low as forty-five perzent."

"Um."

"Zat 'as very interesting implications for water magic, no?"

Monmon tilted her head. Well, yes, she did suppose it was somewhat easier to heal small children and harder to treat the very fat, now she had thought of it, but she had always put it down to the fact that the fat were unhealthy, while small children got better more easily. "Well, that sounds interesting," she said. "If it says things about healing, could I borrow it when you're done?"

Tabitha paused. "Eet is not about healing," she said, quietly. "You would not be interested een eet."

"In that case, what is… oh, what is taking Kirche so long?" Monmon said, getting bored of trying to parse the blue-haired girl's thick Gallian accent. "Just accept they're not going to do good ale in a backwater like this and she should just drink wine like the rest of… well, like me and Guiche. Guiche? Guiche? Oh, where has he got to?"

"I've been mingling," the boy said from behind her. "For example, do you know that Old Woman Bevis will pay twenty deniers if someone goes into her basement and kills all the rats for her? And the alchemist with the shop on the town square is looking for people to collect a certain rare herb which grows in the wilds which he plans to use to make a new kind of potion and…"

"Guiche, we've talked to you about this," Montmorency sighed. "The returns relative to the time we put into them are simply not worth it from talking to random people."

"I was thinking that we might want to get on good terms with the locals, get them to trust us, before they tell us the actual truth about what's going on with the circus tent," Guiche said, sounding hurt. "I mean, otherwise we'll have to go find the crazy old man _again _and try to dig the truth out of his mad ramblings. And last time that happened, you and Kirche had me send my golems into that cesspit to find the goblins that lived in it which stole all the countess' gems."

"Hey! There were goblins lurking around there," Monmon retorted.

"Yes, but they were just stealing food from the bins. That was a waste of an afternoon. Has Kirche finished talking to that strange woman yet?"

The blonde girl, about to take a sip of her diluted wine, paused. "What strange woman?" she asked, looking around.

And indeed, Kirche was sitting at a table with… well, looking closer, it did appear to be a woman. At first inspection, it had not been clear. Her reddish-blonde hair was cropped short; she wore stockings and breaches like a man, and whatever femininity she might have had was marked by the old pale burn scars which marred half her face.

"Oh, she's another outsider. She was passing through looking for… well, she was a little vague about what she was looking for, but she stopped here, and has been here for a week or so, trying to get to the roots of why there's a giant evil circus tent outside the town which no one wants to talk about."

"Mmm," Monmon said. She didn't trust the woman. She was sitting a little too close to Kirche, leaning in a little too close for it to be… trustworthy. "I think we should go over there and hear this," she said.

"That's probably a very good idea," Guiche agreed. "Come on, Tabitha, this might be the break we're looking for!"

"And so I told him, he'd need a sheath made for a dagger for his blade, and I wasn't impressed by his little knife!"

"And then what?" asked the scarred woman, eyes gazing deep into Kirche's.

"I beg your pardon," said Kirche.

"And then what happened? Did he find a better fitting scabbard?"

The girl blinked. "It… it was a joke," she said, weakly. "Oh, hey, you lot. Everyone, this is Agnès. She's a chevalier. Used to work for the royal family as a protector; now freelance."

Tabitha touched Agnès softly on the hand. "Eet is a problem, zeir joking" she said quietly. "I 'ave asked them many times what zey mean by such things, and zey never do explain eet."

"Who's the Gallian?" the older woman asked, evidently giving up on Kirche's cryptic ways.

"Oh yeah, I should introduce them better. The pretty blond is Guiche, the less pretty blonde is Montmorency, the one with her nose in a book is Tabitha."

"Hey!" Monmon began to protest.

"Ah, of the de Gramont family," the chevalier asked, half-turning to Guiche. "Your older brother might remember me; we put down a rebellion of black nuns in a convent on the Gallian border a few years back, back when I was still with the army." Her lips curled down. "Such behaviour is not unexpected of nuns, of course."

"Oh, I think I do recall him mentioning being involved in something like that, about five years back," Guiche said, cheerfully. "So what brings you to this forsaken town?"

"I'm… looking for some people," the older woman said, her words guarded. "I've found a few of them, but… there are a few left. I need to find them so the gh… before too long."

"Ah," Guiche said confidently, taking in her muscled build and the horrific-looking burn scars on her face. "I understand."

"I don't think you do," the woman retorted coldly.

"Perhaps," the boy said, leaning over and whispering something in Kirche's ear.

The darker-skinned girl tilted her head, and nodded. "I think we might well be able to work together," she told the older woman. "Guiche thinks you're trustworthy and I'm inclined to say the same."

"That's too kind," the woman said, smiling and leaning closer to Kirche. "Would you mind if… there are watchers here," she said, barely moving her lips. "If you will come with me to a backroom and your friends stay here, I will tell you what I have found out."

"I will see to Sylphid," Tabitha announced, departing.

Kirche and the older woman disappeared off, and the other mages returned to their table. "Guiche," Montmorency hissed insistently. "I don't trust this woman. Look how she's acting! Especially around Kirche! And the way she dresses, and the way she acts in a manly way, and the way she doesn't seem to have a sense of humour!"

"It is a little strange," he admitted, "and I suspect she does have a secret, but I'm sure she'll be trustworthy against the dark presence that haunts this town."

"Oh good. It isn't just me," the blonde whispered. "And no, I'm not worried about that."

"I think she's a Protestant. We'll be careful," Guiche whispered back. "We'll just have to watch her for anti-clericalism and an aniconographic rejection of symbolic rejections of Brimir and the saints."

Monmon blinked. "Wait, what?"

"If we're not careful, she might try to lead us into heresy with a rejection of the wisdom of the church fathers and their interpretation of the holy texts based on well-established learning, in favour of an ill-educated reading which exults in the ignorance of barely literate peasants. She might even start insulting His Holiness, the Pope, in front of us."

"Uh…"

"But we're not interested in her theology, and she looks competent enough in a fight. Those kinds of commoner soldiers usually are; my father taught me about how to look for them and why we should reward such talent."

The girl sighed, and patted Guiche on the head. "You do that," she said. "Watch her like a hawk. I just need to go to talk to someone who can grasp a hint," she added, under her breath, as she went out to look for the last member of their party.

She found the blue-haired girl feeding a pail full of meat to her dragon. Montmonrency wasn't sure where the shorter girl had found all that raw meat, but she supposed that Tabitha had the capacity to find the kitchens herself when she didn't have her nose in a book.

"Tabitha?"

"Oui?"

"Have you seen something… off about this Agnès woman? You know, with how she dresses and how she acts around Kirche?"

Tabitha nodded.

"Oh, good, it isn't just me."

"Oui. I think she may be an 'uguenot. A Proteztant. Not sure."

Montmorency blinked. "Why did I go talk to you again?" she asked herself. "You don't even catch Kirche's innuendo."

"I am sorry? Kirche eez een what?"

"Never mind, Tabitha." Monmon slumped down. "You know what! I think I'll just have another drink. And not so watered down this time. In fact, it'll just be neat…"

"No need for that!" Kirche announced from behind them, flanked by Guiche. "Just as well Tabby is checking the mounts; we're going up to the circus tent right now! Agnès has found that there's a nightly 'festival' where they do all kinds of wicked things, so we'll go in and put a stop to it once and for all!"

"Hurrah!" Guiche cheered.

"Agnès?" Monmon asked, raising her eyebrows. "Are you on first name terms already?"

"Yep! And yes, you were right, Guiche," Kirche said cheerfully. "Hero, through and through. I'd trust her at my back."

"Told you," the boy said, grinning. He put his hands on his hips, raising his chin and gazing off into the middle distance. "Let's go turn this comedy of clowns… into a tragedy!"

There was silence. It was the wrong time of year for crickets to chirrup, but had it been summer, there would have been crickets chirruping.

"Yeah, let's," Kirche said, eventually.

* * *

…

* * *

Under the cover of darkness, five cloaked figures and one trying-to-be-sneaky dragon made their way up the hillside to the tent. After some complaints about the clattering and the trees which got knocked over, the dragon was told to stay behind, while Guiche's mole familiar and Kirche's salamander scouted ahead.

Surprisingly, though, no traps lay in wait. There were guards waiting for them at the entrance to the tent, but Tabitha happened.

"Zat eez all of them," the tiny girl said, returning to the others. She wiped off her black-painted poniard on the snow. "Ze ground eez slippery zere; watch out."

"Good job, Tabby," Kirche whispered. "So, swing in through one of the windows on these convenient ropes?"

"Good idea," said Guiche.

"Veto," said Monmon.

Kirche muttered under her breath. "I never get to swing in on ropes," she complained. And so she vented her frustration by setting alight the bears who tried to maul them when they charged through the main door. In deference to the theming, the bears had been wearing tutus, but as it turned out they burned especially well.

The interior of the circus tent was a mad panorama of colours and noises. There a peasant was forced to try to swallow a sword; here a clown was throwing knives at a woman tied to a wheel; over there a seal – imported no doubt at great expense, because none lived on the north coast of Tristain – balanced a screaming child on its nose.

And in the centre of this madhouse lounged a man in brightly coloured clothing, sitting on a grand throne. His chalk-white face was elaborately made up, and his green hair was braided with little grinning skulls. On the sight of the newcomers, he picked himself up, an utterly insane grin flashing across his face.

"Mwhahahahahaha," said the clown in a deadpan voice, and then gave a forced laugh. "Welcome to my show! I am the Capering Count of Canimar, King of Clean Killings and Callous Comedy! Can cows count contrary consumers? Can they?"

The children and the chevalier exchanged confused looks. "No?" hedged Guiche, uneasily. "And… uh, what was that about…"

"Correct!" said the man, honking his large red nose. "Do I have a show for you tonight!"

"Do you?" asked Agnès.

"Uh uh uh! That wasn't a question!"

"It sounded like a question."

"Well, it wasn't! I think you'll find it hilarious! In fact, you might just laugh yourself to…" and that was about all he managed, because Agnès drew her pistol and shot him in the head.

There was a shocked silence, interrupted only by the scratching of a pencil as Tabitha quickly took notes.

"Uh," said Guiche.

"What?" the scarred woman asked.

"… aren't you going to, you know… make a witty one-liner or something? Say something like 'laugh this one off'? Or… well, if you'd hit him, you could have said something about a punchline."

"Why would I do that?" The woman sniffed, beginning to reload her pistol. "That kind of detestable humour is a weakness of papi… most people. Incidentally, there are multiple evil clowns staring at us in shock. Kill them."

"Oui," Tabitha said quietly, and flicked her wand in the direction of a woman dressed in a harlequin's outfit. The woman exploded in a hail of scything bloody ice which cut down most of the others. "Slyphid," she added, raising her voice, and a dragon crashed through the roof, with a roar which sounded most peculiarly like 'Om nom nom'.

Guiche watched the carnage, his shoulders slumping. "Well, there's really no point in me even making my golems," he said sadly, watching as the dragon wolfed down a man who had been juggling burning torches. "They'd take too long to get over there and then the fun will be over." He squared his shoulders. "Well, I'll make them anyway! They'll protect you fair maidens from any threats which might get behind us."

Kirche grinned.

"Not a word," Monmon said, warningly.

"I said nothing."

"Oh, please. You were going to say something about not minding having a large threat behind you or something slatternly and filthy like that."

"Montmorency de la Montmorency," Kirche said, her hand going to her mouth in fake shock, "such language! You wicked, sinful girl, speaking of such unmaidenly things!"

"Why would you want for a threat to be behind you?" Tabitha asked. "Zat is a threat, a vulnerability? Bad."

"Quite so," Agnès said, solidly, as she finished reloading her pistol. "The blue-haired girl… Tabitha, wasn't it? She's right. Always keep your foes in front of you." She nodded. "I believe you can clean up the rest of them without my assistance."

"That'll be easy," Kirche said.

The older woman nodded. "If you ever want to do adventurous things with me, without these others slowing you down, I keep a mail box in the capital, in the Charming Fairies Inn. It's a disreputable place, but the owner is… strange, but honest," she told Kirche. "We can have a little meet-up to talk some things over."

"Remember what I said earlier about my father looking for a new captain of the guard," Kirche said. "From what I saw of you here, I'm even more impressed, and for all his many flaws, the role pays very well and he's seldom at home. He looks for the best to protect his family in his absence, because he has a lot of enemies. When you've found the people you're looking for, you should get in touch if you're interested."

Agnès' face twitched. "I think few would be interested in my bodyguarding services," she said. "After all, I 'failed' with Princess Henrietta… though I can tell you one thing. They're lying when they say she secretly snuck off and married the Albionese prince. I was with her when they said the marriage happened, chaperoning the two of them. There's a reason I made myself scarce from court. I'm an inconvenience to the tale the Council tells."

"Wait, really?" Guiche interrupted, eyes widening. "You mean the allegations are…"

The woman's lips pursed. "I've said too much already," she said. "Maybe I can talk further when I get my revenge, but for now? I don't want to get involved in politics. It'll get in my way."

"But you're saying that…"

"I'm not saying anything. Not yet," she said, firmly. She glanced at Kirche, looking her up and down. "Get in touch," she said, dropping her voice. "And don't trust the Council. Or the Church. The rot of Evil goes into high places, now they have removed Cardinal Mazarin – known to all to be a righteous man, one who thwarted the wiles of the King of the Abyss – from his place. Keep your own council, ladies, Gramont, and stay wary!"

"You know," Kirche said, as they watched the scarred woman leave, "I'm starting to suspect she's a Protestant. Why else would she speak out against the Church like that? It seems to be something very personal with her. What could have set her against our Holy Mother Church like that? I dread to think." She shook her head sadly. "And of course, there is the way she dresses."

* * *

…


	28. In Another Castle

"_Dearest, sweetest cousin. I have received a most distressing message recently. Apparently, the duc d'Normandie has not been paying his taxes recently, and has also been consorting with bandit lords and practitioners of vile magics. Now, as I am kind and good, we have come to an arrangement where we recoup his withheld taxes and he promises not to do it again. As you are an evil black-hearted fiend, I expect you will make an example of him and his family, with your customary discretion and lack of traceability. Because you are loathsome and get a sick thrill out of murder, no doubt there will be no survivors. May God have mercy on your black soul for the dreadful things you will do._"

– Princess Isabella of the House of Bourbon, heir-selective to the throne of Gallia, speaking to her cousin

* * *

…

* * *

She was falling. Above her, Albion was burning, and she was falling wrapped in flames. By her hand, the Albionese fleet was burning and she had left the streets of the port choked with bodies and even as she fell, she laughed. The glee at watching the Albionese traitors run and scream was almost beyond words.

Louise de la Vallière sat bolt upright in bed, panting. Groggily, she rubbed her eyes against the sleeve of her nightdress and peered around looking for any clue of what time it was. She needed to get a clock, she realised. Rolling out of bed and padding over to the window, she unbolted the shutters and looked outside, over the frozen, snow-covered swamps under the light of the moons. Well, it was still dark outside. And… she knew she really should move her quarters down so she was not living in the stump of the ruined tower, but… she liked daylight. She liked being able to look out of her window in the morning.

But argh, it wasn't safe up here. Not now that she was a moderately famous name among the Forces of Evil. And she really should be more worried about evil, wicked assassins coming for her. Or heroes who didn't realise she was really doing good things. Or even vampires.

Her eyes refocused on the icy landscape before her, and she realised why vampires had come to mind.

"Catt?" she called out, over at the pale white shape floating down over the snow. "Is that you?"

"Yep!" her sister called back.

"… what are you doing out there?"

Her sister lifted up a wolf puppy. "Pierre was whining like he needed to do his business, so I'm taking him outside to find a tree so he can do his wolfy things."

Louise stared blankly into the middle distance for a while, as she contemplated her bare-footed, nightgowned sister flying around, holding a wolf at arm's length. "Uh… very good. Carry on." It was cold outside, and the chill had cleared her head somewhat, so she closed and bolted her shutter again, heading back to bed. She was clearly still recovering from her trip to the Abyss, and the way the day-night cycle had not quite been the same there. She lay back down, staring at the ceiling, mind a whir. Maybe she should see if she could afford some kind of… portal or something which she could put over her window and still manage to get sunlight and fresh air through it, while not being in a vulnerable bit of the tower.

She also needed to take some of Emperor Lee's advice and get magical protections against fire, lightning, wind, earth, poison, disease, crippling, surprise attacks, water, blood, necrotic energy…

The recitation of ways that people might try to kill her lulled her to sleep, like she was counting sheep, and once more she dreamed.

Long ago, before the dark ocean of the Great North Sea drowned the tainted soil of Doggerland, before Albion was snatched up from the earth where it had rested for uncounted aeons and cast into the sky, before the Markay were cast from their homelands by a Great Evil, before even the deep halls of Zazzergargh were left hollow and dead by the death of their makers… ah, that was a different world!

In that time, the dragons, kings over men, ruled over the northern territories while to the south dwelt the elves, who roamed the lush green landscape along with their bastard children, and to the east dwarvenkind dwelt in their mountainous retreats. There was harmony, and peace, and everyone got along and fluffy bunnies and ponies frolicked in glades untouched by mortal hands and other things of that ilk.

All in all, it was disgustingly saccharine.

It was then, however, that many say that Evil first entered the world. The people who say that are wrong. Evil was there all along. It dwelt in the heart of the dwarves, who stared at the untapped seams of any land which had not felt their touch. It dwelt in the hearts of the dragons, who longed to have the precious things that were forged by the lesser races, to bring them under their dominion and reign unchallenged. It dwelt in the hearts of the elves, judging others as inferior and longing to correct their misdeeds and actions.

And in the hearts of men, it came to full flower. For men were the least of the races. They worked day and night in the service of the dragons, and they came to hate them. Their tribes were inferior, weak, prey in the jungles of the elves and the plains of what is now known as the Holy Land. And in the mountains of the dwarves they did what those diminutive goldlovers would not do; they carried out backbreaking labour, farming and fishing and feeding their lords in their fortresses.

In what is now Albion, back when it did was seated in the earth, there arose the first Overlord! Clad in armour forged of the bones of the dragon-lords he had cast down, he raised his mace, and ten thousand hands raised their weapons high. Traitors smashed the eggs of the dragon lords. Dragon eggs make wonderful omelets, especially when salted with the tears of their parents. Vast towers were built with stolen magical secrets, radiating Evil over the land and as it sank in, the world itself learned to hate and fear.

The first vampires and necromancers called forth the spirits of the dragons they slew to fight their kin on equal terms. Animals were slaughtered en-masse, harvesting their life force to power his dark machines. The First Overlord even broke the seals on the Abyss, calling forth hordes of demons and binding the denizens of the Abyss into unbreakable contracts to serve those who addressed them with the correct words.

The dragons fought back. Proud they were; proud and cruel by nature, but this war fed all their worst instincts. They refused to call for help from the magical races, and instead drew on the new Evil energies of the land. Their greed, their envy blossomed, and the forces of the Overlord died in horrible and imaginative ways, but it was too little, too late. The dragons were scattered and they were poisoned by Evil. Forever after, they would be tyrants with envious hearts, too slothful to reclaim what they had lost.

Their fall did not go unnoticed! A last alliance was forged! An alliance of men, elves, dragons, markay, dwarves, and even a few halflings who had got caught up in the whole thing, possibly because they wandered into the planning tent when trying to find the kitchen! They would take the greatest, the boldest of the Heroes of their races, and they would slay the Overlord! They would cast down his towers, break down his wicked spires and restore righteousness to the land, no matter the cost!

What a bunch of fools!

And so it came to pass that…

Louise opened her eyes groggily. It was light now, though the pink tinge sinking through the windows indicated that either she had been sleep-setting-the-countryside-on-fire, or it was dawn. Rolling over in bed, she came face to face with Gnarl, who was sitting on a stool by her bed with a book on his lap.

"Ah. Good morning, your evilness," Gnarl said, without a trace of shame. "The sun is up, and cheery little birds are singing. Why don't we go and burn them all to death?"

Louise worked her jaw. Eventually, she managed, "H-have you been reading stories to me when I'm asleep?"

"Your wickedness, I would not lie to you," Gnarl said happily.

There was a pause.

"I can't help but notice you didn't answer the question," Louise said, stifling a yawn.

"Your malevolence, what a thing to say!"

"You still haven't answered the… what are you doing in my room!" Louise snapped, suddenly much more awake and gathering her covers up around her. "Get out!"

"I have begun work on bringing the forge up to proto-operational state, in preparation for your new forgemistress to outfit as she sees fit," Gnarl said, slipping off his stool.

"G-get out! Right now!" Louise began to search around for a hairbrush to throw at him, but by the time she found a comb he had already vanished. Sitting up, the dark evil force of evil darkness and evil rubbed her tired eyes on her sleeve, and yawned.

Another day, another bunch of secretly good deeds to do in the face of her insubordinate and improper minions, it seemed.

* * *

…

* * *

In her grand ceremonial dining hall, attended by hordes of loyal minions wearing various uniforms stolen from perfectly innocent commoners, Louise picked at her breakfast.

"Wine for the overlady?" asked a blue-skinned minion, its manner a perverse mockery of the butler's uniform it was wearing.

The girl sleepily stared at the creature, getting her thoughts in gear. "Yes, but only one part in five," she said. She blinked. "And boil the water!" she added hastily. "I can't emphasise that enough! And if I get frogspawn in it again, everyone on kitchen duty is getting tortured!"

The blue minion managed a grin which would be described as sheepish, if sheep looked like minions, and quickly concealed the clay jug of water behind its back. "I go get fresh water right now!" it squeaked, running off.

Louise nodded firmly. Good. They were learning. Or at least they accepted her threats were meant seriously.

An inchoate moaning, the dull groan of a damn'd soul who wandered the earth, marked the arrival of a denizen of the Abyss. Icepack held to her head, looking decidedly worse for wear, Jessica stumbled in looking miserable. "Mor'in'," she managed.

"Good morning," Louise said. The sight of such misery, such suffering, such self-inflicted pain made her feel better just looking at it. "You look terrible."

"I feel terrible," the other girl groaned, slumping down in one of the high-backed chairs in the dining hall. "I never norm'ly get like this. I always handle my booze very well."

"Mmm hmm," Louise said, explicitly not saying anything else.

"… are you judging me?"

"Not at all," lied Louise, who totally was judging her.

"Urgh. So mean."

Jessica was wearing a baggy buttonless white shirt, short in the arms, festooned with a burning red demonic inscription. She was clearly confused and suffering, Louise felt, because she had either been wearing such a thing to bed, or changed from her proper nightgown and forgotten to put anything on her bottom half. When the shirt rode up, Louise could see her underthings. It was moderately utterly shameful.

But then again, Jessica had been raised by a demon. She was clearly lacking in certain standards of decency. Louise would just have to teach her in the time they spent together.

"Are you cold?" she asked. "And… what _is _that that you're wearing?"

"Do you have a problem with my t-shirt?" Jessica asked. "Oh… is it the writing? I dunno; I felt it was pretty funny. Because, you know. I have horns and… well, not right now, but when they're out, it's asking if you're as…" she trailed off. "Ow, my head," she concluded, clutching the icepack tighter.

"Don't you have a nightgown?" Louise said primly.

Jessica stared back at her blankly.

"Wouldn't you say you're showing rather too much leg?"

Jessica continued to stare. "Hey, where's your fridge?" she asked, obviously giving up on trying to understand Louise. "What've you got in the way of cereal here?"

"Serial what?"

"Any muesli?" Jessica asked hopefully. "Please tell me you have coffee at least."

"Muesli? What's that? And… no, no coffee. It's… a bit expensive, given it has to come all the way from Ind or Rub al-Khali, and I don't like it." Louise paused. "I have tea, because the minions drink it," she said. "I'm having black sausage and bacon. Well, and rye bread. And… well, the mushrooms are called 'Bloody Hellspawn Fingers' according to the book, but they grow down in the tunnels and really aren't that bad. And they're not poisonous. Even if they do taste a bit metallic."

Jessica sighed. "Oh dear," she said, looking Louise up and down. "Of course, you probably never ever have to worry about your weight, do you? You're lucky there. And your sister feeds off the blood of the living, so she doesn't keep cereal or stuff like that around. I… I guess I can have some sausage and bread. But no bacon. I'll need to go shopping to pick up some food. So what's the cupboard arrangement here?"

"I beg your pardon?" Louise looked around. "Uh… well, uh, Catt gets her own food and I just have a coldroom."

"Oh, man, I'll need to get a fridge, then," Jessica said, wrinkling her nose. "And a cupboard. And an ice demon to bleed behind the fridge, obviously." The older girl stretched, neck clicking. "So, about… oh, you're having wine? Okay, I'll have that too." She caught Louise's disapproving glance. "What? I was going to have it diluted! Half-and-half!"

Well, she had brought this on herself, Louise was forced to concede. She had wanted there to be other people here at the tower so she had intelligent conversation which wasn't Gnarl. And while Gnarl could provide intelligent conversation, he was both frightfully evil, and, she suspected, smarter than she was. Which was more than a little disturbing, because he was a goblin-thing.

Perhaps he had stolen the Lord's allocation of brains for the rest of his species. She wouldn't put it past him.

But now she had people more like her – well, not entirely like her, because one of them was a rather peculiar half-demon hell-princess who got all mannish when she got flustered and the other was her kind, sweet, nice older sister who just happened, in the best possible sense of the word, to be a bloodsucking monster – and she'd have to get used to having non-Minions around.

She worked on trying to eat what she could, while Jessica made a fuss about her hangover. Yes, technically speaking it was a blasphemy against all that was right and proper that the other girl only had a hangover from drinking enough to kill a normal human being, but she was still being awfully loud about it. Also, it was her own fault. Louise stabbed her sausage, working the fork in, and took a vindictive bite from it.

Wait. No! Those were evil thoughts! About someone on her own side! She shouldn't do that!

Even if it was Jessica's fault for drinking so heavily. Which was a sin – in fact, it was two sins, Excess and Gluttony – so frowning on her actions was a good thing to do. But she was… argh! No! How could she be caught in a moral conflict here! That wasn't fair! How was she meant to take schadenfreude – that word was one of the few useful things to come from Germania – from the suffering of a sinner when she also was meant to not think mean things?

Any further moral debate was cut short by Maxy showing up in his floppy hat, trailed by two subordinate minions. "Overlady," the brown announced, "present for you! It arrive through the heart! I do the reading of the symbols and it say it from person called Lee."

Louise blushed. A present? From Emperor Lee?

Wait. A present. From Emperor Lee? "Stay there," she told Maxy, "and get some blues handy." She rose to her feet quickly, grabbed Jessica by the hand, and pulled the other girl out of the room. She wanted at least a solid stone wall between her and the result of opening that box. "Okay, open it for me!" she called out.

"Open it!" Maxy, standing beside her, called out.

There was crack of lightning, and a boom. Louise nodded solidly. One of the things the Cathayan Emperor had mentioned to her during a dance was how people who opened presents themselves were… what were the words he had used, 'objectively suboptimal'? Probably. He had used those words about a lot of things. Now she could go and… "Check it again!" she yelled, to any minions still in the room.

"Aww!" a minion called back. "No more pretty boomies!"

"Sparky magic rock taste funny!"

"Oooh! I wants a go licking it! Hee hee hee! Funny sparky rock!"

Louise risked poking her head back in. Well. Breakfast was ruined, that was for sure. "I thought I told you to stay there," she said to Maxy.

The brown looked hurt. "I here to protect you, overlady," he said. "What if… secret ambush planned when you was getting away from explody box?"

The overlady stared down at the minion. "And it's not at all that you suspected that it was a trap and so you wanted other minions to open it," she said, wryly.

"Nah, minions aren't that bright," Jessica said. "Also, they don't know the meaning of the word 'fear'. Not that that means much, of course."

"Yep!" Maxy said cheerfully. "I clearly too stoopid to not want to get revival headache. I just love them. Mmm mmm. I… I just too worried for overlady and so loyal that I miss fun of being blown up because I want to keep her safe!"

"Well," Louise said, "I think you should go check the box right now. And because it's clearly safe, after that's done, you may bring it to me."

She did smirk somewhat at the way that Maxy poked the lid open with the nearest thing he could find, which was the severed hand of a minion, and gingerly looked at it. The brown's eyes lit up, and he came scampering over to Louise. "Present! For you!" he announced.

Louise read the card.

"To the Steel Maiden,  
Congratulations. If you are still alive, you are worthy of respect. You would not believe how many fools just open presents from an emperor. Contained within is everything I have ever promised you. I look forwards to meeting with you again. Perhaps for dinner.  
His Imperial Majesty,

Emperor Lee"

Under the card was a human head, coated in… in what looked to be gold leaf. With the eyes replaced with carefully sculpted jade orbs. It was the impertinent translator's head. Not his eyes, though. They hadn't been jade before.

"Oh my dark gods!" Jessica said enthusiastically. "He sent you a head? Of someone who offended you? That's so romantic! If you don't want him, can I have him?"

"What," said Louise flatly, feeling sick. "You want the head?"

"No, silly! The emperor!"

"Uh…"

"You know, if he keeps on giving you heads, you might want to consider returning the favour, if you know what I mean," Jessica said, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

"I… should find someone who's annoyed him and send him their head?" Louise asked. "But I didn't… he just killed the translator and sent me his head! I don't want to give him heads. There's… th-there's plenty of things far more appropriate! And not… d-disgusting!"

"Well, yeah, it's a big step in a relationship and you should only give heads if you're really going solid," Jessica agreed. "I guess you only did meet him at the party for the first time. But still, seriously, if you do decide you don't want him, tell me. I probably don't have a chance with an emperor, but it's still nice to dream! Especially when he gets such romantic gifts."

"Fine," Louise said diplomatically, her cheeks flaming. "Well. Uh."

She remembered something, and really, really wanted to change the topic.

"Oh yes, Gnarl said this morning that he's bringing the forge back into condition and you'd probably want to spend time down there getting… you know, it set up how you like it. I'll tell the minions to help you, but, you know, the trick is to treat them like they're particularly stupid peasants, so you'll probably," she yawned, "probably want to wear metal boots or something in case you need to give some of them a kicking." She winced in remembered pain. "They have very hard skulls. I'll be in my planning room, working on… something. And if you see Catt before I do, tell her to come see me. I'll want to talk with her."

* * *

…

* * *

It was late afternoon when Cattleya made her way up from the depths of the dungeons where she slept, rubbing her eyes. "Urgh," she said, "I'm feeling really rotten. And not just because of that demon blood, or the way she'd been drinking so I have a second-hand hangover. My body feels all cold and… and I had to even teach myself how to handle my blood freezing! Good afternoon!"

Louise looked up from the tome on black magic she had been flicking through. "Afternoon," she said, distractedly, making an annotation on the sheet of paper beside her.

"The Abyss played heck with my body clock," Cattleya said. "The way there's no real sun and so I can be awake all the time there? No thank you! It's probably going to take me a week to get back in out of synch so I'm not trying to go to sleep at dawn and waking up at dusk!" She smiled, showing a hint of fang. "Though Anne missed me and was very enthusiastic to see me again." The smile turned into a frown. "She's spending a lot of time with the minions, though, so I had to make her bathe. They are adorable, Louise, but they are sort of pongy!" Cattleya plonked herself down in a comfy chair, crossing her legs. "So what'd you want me for?" she asked, bouncing up and down.

Standing up, Louise folded her hands behind her back and momentarily cursed the fact that she wasn't wearing her armour. These dresses may have been wonderfully slinky and dark, but she felt better giving orders when she had a protective layer of steel plating. And high heels, of course. "I have spent most of the morning and this afternoon working on my plans to capture Princess Henrietta and bring her here, where she'll be safe and out of the Council's hands," she began.

"Yay!" said Cattleya. "Go us!"

"… do you mind? I'm trying to explain here!"

"Sorry! I'll try to save the applause for the end."

Louise cleared her throat and started again. "The princess is confined to her rooms in the palace in the inner city of Bruxelles. This is a heavily defended and fortified location, and there are… you know, guards and magical warding and the like. That's bad… good… something we don't want. However, over the last month or so, my strategic situation has changed radically."

"Because me and now Jess have joined you," Cattleya said, knowingly. "Also, you're sounding an awful lot like Father! Well done!"

"… I have been reading some of his books, yes," Louise admitted. She spun on her toe, and headed over to the pinned-up maps. The map room was still broken, despite Gnarl's promises that it would be working soon. "There was a chapter on 'How to rescue damsels when you cannot carry out a direct assault'. It was much more useful than the von Zerbst one, which didn't seem to even accept that you might not want to swing in through the largest window on a rope or silly things like that." Louise glowered at the thought. "But, getting back to the…"

"And… I'm not sure if I've mentioned it, but you've grown and kind of filled out a bit!" Cattleya said, refusing to give up on her previous tangent. "Not much; a bit, but still! When you're in the armour but don't have the spikey helmet on, you're looking a bit more like Mother!"

Louise blushed. "We're going off topic," she said, hastily, flattered despite the 'not much'. "The _point _is," she said, "I can now begin working on plans to capture the princess. I have a date. The best day to strike will be the day of the Springtime Summoning Ritual. Not only will there be fewer watchers around, but it's a sacred day to the Founder and so since we're doing this to keep the Princess, one of his descendants, safe, we should have additional favour."

Cattleya raised her hand. "Um… what if he frowns upon a vampire, a half-demon, some goblins and an overlady trying to kidnap a princess?"

"Nonsense," Louise said, confidently. "The Lord sees into the hearts of all men, and he'll know that we're doing it to protect her. And with the secret way in you discovered at the party, we can now get into the palace without having to go past the guards and the like. That means we can, if we can get a proper plan, make Henrietta simply _vanish _from captivity and embarrass the Council greatly!"

"And also not get cut into lots and lots of itty bitty chunks by elite palace guards, which would be a pain for me and just kill you dead!"

"… thank you for that, Catt," Louise said, shuddering. "I have established several steps we will require for my draft plan. I already have a windship, and I will need to go with Jessica to scout out the Abyss under the palace to find where the rift entrance is, but the greatest problem we have right now is that the tower does not have the power or range to reach the portal gate near the palace." She threw her hand out dramatically, pointing at the map. "This is a problem, because we haven't won until we get Henrietta into the portal! And I really, really don't want to be chased for several days ride by… like, griffins and dragons and the like when we're trying to get away."

"Dragons breathe fire. Well, fire dragons do. They're utterly horrid creatures," Cattleya said firmly. "Anything that avoids firebreathing dragons and also being chased in daylight, I'm in favour of."

"Luckily, from the repaired bit of the tower heart I got from the Bloody Duke, I can bring one of the lesser towers online if I can get to it. All I have to do is touch it with the Gauntlet," Louise tapped her wrist, "and it'll be under my control. Moreover! I paid Jessica's father for information on the location of that tower, and it's under the control of a lower-class necromancer without two ecus to his name." Louise sneered. "The fool seems to just be using it as a high place for lightning strikes while he tries to bring bodies to true life. By eliminating him, not only do we get the tower back, but we'll be able to stop the attacks on nearby villages which might draw Heroic attention to the tower." She paused. "Also, he kills commoners and that's bad," she added.

Cattleya pursed her lips. "So! What does the necromancer have on his side?" she asked.

"Uh…" Louise rummaged through some papers, "some bandits who work for him, some flesh-monsters, some zombies, and his familiar is a winged horse. He's a water mage, but he's also shown a talent for wind magic."

"Sounds tasty," her sister said dreamily. "I was hoping he had some vampires because vampires are just the best! But that sounds nice enough. Oooh! If I save the winged horse's life, I can take it back and my unicorn can have a friend!"

"Your…" Louise paled. "The unicorn's still alive?"

Cattleya wobbled her hand uncertainly. "Mostly alive," she said, cheerfully. "I mean, alive, dead, it's all a bit fuzzy! You know, like kittens! They're fuzzy too!"

The overlady looked her in the face. "Cattleya," she said, "answer this truthfully. Are we in danger of a vampire unicorn breaking free and trying to drain the blood of the living?"

"Nope! Almost certainly not! Hardly at all! It's still mostly alive! It's just a bit… corpsy! Anyway, Jess and I didn't take _all _of its blood and I gave it some back and now it's all friendly because it knows that if it starts being mean again and trying to impale me, it'll be punished for being naughty! Also, you know, it's still missing a few legs so even if – through really bad luck – it escaped and started trying to kill us, it could only hobble!"

Louise let out a sigh. "Fine. Well, the point is, the first step of the plan is to recapture the lesser tower, so we can get to the capital directly. I've been thinking of the fastest way of taking down the tower – because if we can kill the necromancer, that means his constructs won't be controlled any more, and since it's a tower and you can fly, you can get up to the top and get in that way."

Cattleya raised a hand sheepishly. "Uh, you know I can't go into houses without someone inside letting me in, right?" she asked.

"That is why you will take a minion with you, who you can let in and then they can invite you in," Louise said smugly, stepping away from the map to perch on a chest. "I think about such things. Which means all I need to do is to get you onto the island the tower is on.

"An island?" Cattleya echoed.

"Yes, it's on a tributary of the Senne."

"That's… flowing water," Cattleya said, cautiously. "I can't cross that."

"Correct," Louise said. She smirked. "However, I have invented a way to get you onto the island, which should allow you to silently take out the necromancer and so leave him and his forces leaderless." She patted the sea-chest she was sitting on. "I've had it packed with grave-earth, too, but I want to see if you can fit. If you can, blues can drag you over."

"Uh." Her sister frowned. "I don't follow."

"Get in the box, Catt."

* * *

…


End file.
